y.j 



■BHBMnBOnnBBBEBSBni 

Library of Congress. 



Chap. 



Shelf 




BV.4.^15- 



^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




M. W. DODD, 506 BROADWAY. 



THE 



DEAF SHOEMAKER. 



PHILIPS BARRETT, 

ATTTHOB OF "FLOWERS BY THE -WAYSIDE." 



TO WHICH AEE ADDED 



<8>tft*y $UvU# tw tfet f oun 



'Tis Religion that can give 
Sweetest pleasures while we live ; 
'Tis Religion must supply- 
Solid comfort when we die. 

Mrs. Masters. 




NEW YORK: 
PUBLISHED BY M. W. DODD, 



No. 506 BROADWAY. 






I* 






Entered aecorJing to Act of Congress in the year 1359, by 

M. W. DODD, 

1 the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
Southern District of New York. 



EDWARD 0. JENKINS, 

printer & Stcrrotnpcr, 
No. 26 Frankfort Strket. 



LC Control Number 
tmp96 031632 



REV. ERSEINE M. RODMAN, 

RECTOR OF CHRIST'S CHURCH, NORFOLK, VA., 

Cilia kittle ftalnmz is 

INSCRIBED, 

AS AN HTTMBLE TESTIMONIAL OP THE FRIENDSHIP AND ESTEEM OF 

PHILIP BARRETT. 



PREFACE. 



My Dear Young Friends : 

Encouraged by your kind reception of my 
former little volume, I have gathered together 
my scattered sketches with the earnest wish and 
heart-felt prayer that they may be instrumental 
in leading you to childhood's best and truest 
friend — the blessed Saviour. 

Your attached Friend, 

PHILIP BARRETT, 
Rural Retirement, Va. 



CONTENTS. 



john Mcdonough 9 

maey and her drawee 14 

"IT IS I!" 18 

THE ORPHAN 22 

THE RECORDING ANGEL 26 

THOMAS WARD 29 

THE ROSE 34 

THE LANTERN 38 

THE DECISIVE MOMENT 43 

THE ALARM WATCH 46 

"CONDEMNED" 51 

"I WANT TO BE A MINISTER" 55 

RUFUS TAYLOR 60 

JAMES JONES... 63 

GERTRUDE MASON :.. 68 

THE DEAF SHOEMAKER 71 

NORMAN HALL 77 

"DELAY NOT" 80 

THE SAVIOUR 85 

AUTUMN 89 

NERO .. 94 

THE RAILROAD 100 

(vii) 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

A TKUE SKETCH 104 

"THE LAST NIGHT OF THE SEASON" 108 

HUGH MILLER AND THE PRECIPICE 112 

THE HOME OF ST. PAUL 116 

HOME 121 

TO MY SABBATH-SCHOOL CLASS 128 

HALF AN HOUR IN BAD COMPANY 131 

THE FIRST DAY OF THE NEW YEAR 134 

THE YOUNG MAN WHO WENT TO SLEEP IN CHURCH.. 138 

MARGARET WILSON 140 

GILBERT HUNT 145 

SKETCHES FOR YOUNG MEN..... 155 

The Lamp and the Lantern, No. 1 15T 

" " No. 2 159 

No. 3 164 

" Who Shall Be the Greatest ? " No. 1 169 

No. 2 172 

No. 3 174 

The Poor Consumptive 181 

" What I Live for " 184 

The La6t Sermon of the Season 186 

"Will Nobody Save Me?" 188 

A Sabbath in the Country 190 

TnE Young Christian's Death-Chamber 196 

What Prayer Does 202 

" Pray Without Ceasing " 204 



john Mcdonough. 



u Jesus, lover of my soul, 
Let me to Thy bosom fly, 
While the raging billows roll, 
While the tempest still is high. 

" Hide me, my Saviour, hide, 
Till the storm of life is past ■ 
Safe into the haven guide ; 
receive my soul at last." 



"John McDonough! who is Tie?" my young 
reader will doubtless exclaim. 

It is true, his name is not written in golden 
letters on the pages of History, — no Senate 
chamber has resounded with his eloquence, — the 
conqueror's wreath has never encircled his brow ; 
but John McDonough has performed a deed 
which posterity, to the remotest generation, can 
never forget. 

But a few weeks since, the steamer Northern 
Indiana was burned on one of the Northern 
lakes, and then and there it was, that this noble 
and gallant deed was performed. 

(9) 



10 JOHN M'DONOUGII. 

You who have never seen a ship on fire can 
form no idea of the awful horror of such a scene. 
All was wild excitement and mad confusion. 
The flames spread like a whirlwind over the 
noble ship, and soon wrapt it in their withering 
embrace. Ever}' heart was lifted to God in 
prayer ; every voice was joined in supplication ; 
mothers were clasping their infants to their bos- 
oms ; husbands endeavoring to save their wiv 
fathers encircling their sons in their strong and 
unfailing arms ; the waters were a mass of living, 
immortal beings, struggling for life. 

Amid the hissing of the flames, the pale glare 
of the atmosphere, and the wild shrieks of hope- 
less agony that arose from the sinking passen- 
gers, John McDonough might have been seen? 
calm and composed, struggling nobly with the 
swelling waves, and bearing in one hand life-pre- 
servers to the perishing souls scattered over the 
surface of the lake, which, to many, was destined 
soon to be the winding-sheet of Death. 

How noble the action ! How my heart swells 
within me when I think of the gallant and fear- 
less conduct of such a man ! 

When despair clothed every brow, fear paled 
every cheek, and the wild cry — " Save, Lord, or 
I perish " — echoed in the ears of the drowning, 



JOHN M'DONOUGH. 11 

his lofty brow showed no signs of fear, his eye 
beamed with hope. He still struggled on, and 
on, till many and many a soul was rescued from 
a watery grave. 

I had rather be the brave, the dauntless, the 
self-sacrificing John McDonough — the humble 
laborer on the ill-fated Northern Indiana — than 
Alexander the Great weeping because there were 
no other worlds for him to conquer. 

God bless thee, noble John McDonough ! 

Though no eulogy be pronounced at thy 
death, no booming cannon thunder over thy 
grave, no proud monument mark thy resting- 
place, yet there will be erected in the hearts of 
thy countrymen a monument more lasting than 
marble, more enduring than brass. May thy 
name live forever ! 

My young friends, do you not also see, con- 
cealed as it were by the terrible grandeur and 
painful horror of the scene, a beautiful and im- 
portant truth displayed in the conduct of this 
noble-hearted man ? 

We are all embarked in a ship. The destina- 
tion of that ship is Eternity. The voyage is 
tempestuous, and when we least expect it, the 
fires of hell may take hold upon us. But, thanks 
be to God, there is a Great Life-preserver always 



12 JOHN M'DONOUGH. 

at hand. That Life-preserver I now extend to 
you : reject it if you dare ; destruction is the 
consequence. Accept it : and you will soon be 
landed on the blissful shores of Heaven. That 
Life-preserver is 

CHRIST. 



CHRIST THE ROCK OF AGES. 

" Roc£ op Ages, cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself iD Thee ; 

Let the water and the blood, 

From Thy wounded side which flowed, 

Be of sin the double cure ; 

Cleanse me from its guilt and power. 

" Not the labor of my hands 
Can fulfil the law's demands ; 
Could my zeal no respite know, 
Could my tears forever flow, 
All for sin could not atone, 
Thou must save, and Thou alone. 

" Nothing in my hand I bring, 
Simply to Thy cross I cling ; 



THE ROCK OF AGES. 13 

Naked, come to Thee for dress ; 
Helpless, look to Thee for grace ; 
Yile, I to the Fountain fly, 
Wash me, Saviour, or I die. 

" While I draw this fleeting breath, 
When my heart-strings break in death, 
When I soar to worlds unknown, 
See Thee on Thy judgment throne, — 
Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in Thee." 



MARY AND HER DRAWER ; 

OK, NOTHING MADE BY GETTING ANGRY. 

I cannot curb my temper, 

I might as ■well have tried 
To stop, with little pebbles, 

A river's rapid tide. 
My good resolves I hardly form, 
When trifles raise an angry storm. ♦ 

Child's Christian Year. 

'The church bells were sending forth their 
merry chimes, and hundreds of children were 
wending their way to the Sabbath-school. Mary 
was late that morning, and ran very quickly to 
her drawer, in which were kept her gloves, hymn- 
book, catechism, &c, and endeavored to jerk it 
open at once ; but in so doing she got it crooked, 
and it would move neither way. 

Being in a great hurry, she began at once to 
fret and blame the drawer for not coming out. 
She soon became quite angry; her cheek flushed, 
her eyes sparkled, and with a violent effort she 
pulled the drawer out, emptied its contents on 
(14) 



YIELDING TO TEMPTATION. 15 

the floor, tore her dress, disfigured her hymn- 
book, and almost ruined the drawer itself. 

Her father was patiently waiting in the hall 
for his little daughter, when the accident occur- 
red, and asked her what was the matter. Her 
instant reply was, " Nothing, Father ; you go on 
— I will overtake you presently." 

Little Mary did not overtake her father, and 
he looked in vain for her at the Sabbath-school. 

Her dress was so badly torn that she could 
not go to Sabbath-school, and with tears flowing 
down her cheeks, she sat down and thought so- 
berly over her conduct. 

She doubtless felt very sorry for her anger, and 
the unnecessary damage she had done. 

No one, when the family returned from church, 
said a word to her, but left her to her own re- 
flections. When her father had taken off his hat 
and seated himself, she modestly approached him, 
threw her arms around his neck, and said, — 

" Father, do you know why your little Mary 
was absent from Sabbath-school this morning ?" 

11 No, my child," he replied. 

" I was in a very great hurry, and attempted 
to pull my drawer out very quickly, and got it 
fastened so tightly that it would move neither 
one way nor the other. I tried and tried, but it 



16 YIELDING TO TEMPTATION. 

would not move. I then got angry with the 
drawer, pulled it very hard, and not only scatter- 
ed its contents over the floor, but hung the knob 
in my dress and tore it so badly that I could not 
come to the Sabbath-school." 

Her father told her he willingly forgave her, 
and that she must also ask God's forgiveness, for 
she had committed a sin in giving way to her 
anger. He also told her to remember that noth- 
ing was ever made by getting angry. If she 
ever tried to do anything, and could not do it at 
once, she must not get angry, but be patient and 
calm. 

I hope this little thing taught Mary an impor- 
tant lesson — and may it teach you the same, dear 
little reader. Nothing was ever made by getting 
angryj but something always lost. 



AGAINST YIELDING TO TEMPTATION. 

My love, you have met with a trial to-day 
Which I hoped to have seen you oppose ; 

But alas, in a moment your temper gave way, 
And the pride of your bosom arose. 

I saw the temptation, and trembled for fear 
Tour good resolutions should fall ; 

And soon, by your eye and your color, my dear, 
I found you had broken them all. 

Oh, why did you suffer this troublesome sin 

To rise in your bosom again ? 
And when you perceived it already within, 

Oh, why did you let it remain ? 

As soon as temptation is put in your way, 

And passion is ready to start, 
'Tis then you must try to subdue it, and pray 

For courage to bid it depart. 

But now you can only with sorrow implore 
That Jesus would pardon your sin, 

"Would help you to watch for your enemy more, 
And put a new temper within. 

Jane Taylor. 

[It] 



"IT IS I!" 

" Claim me, Shepherd, as Thine own, 
Oh, protect me, Thou alone ! 
Let me hear Thy gracious voice, 
Make my fainting heart rejoice." 

There was once a great storm on the Sea of 
Galilee. 

The wild winds howled, and the furious waves 
rose almost mountain high. 

There was a small vessel in the midst of this 
storm, and in this vessel were some of Christ's 
disciples. 

When the storm had reached its utmost fury, 
and certain destruction seemed to await those 
who were in it, a man was seen walking on the 
water towards the vessel. 

The disciples were at once struck with won- 
der and amazement. They were doubtless some- 
what superstitious, and supposed it to be a spirit ; 
for they were well aware that nothing having 
flesh and blood like themselves could walk on the 
surface of the water without sinking. 

(18) 



"it is i!" 19 

But whose familiar voice is that, heard even 
above the roar of the sea, and the noise of the 
winds ? Who is He that dares approach their 
vessel on such a night ? 

The voice is the voice of their Saviour ; and 
He who dreads not the rage of the billows, is He 
whom " the winds and the sea obey." What are 
His words ? They are few and well chosen — 
such as were best suited to the occasion : " It is 
I ; be not afraid !" Oh, how welcome the visit- 
or ! How delightful that familiar voice ! How 
the downcast hearts of the disciples throb with 
joy when they welcome their Saviour to their 
bosoms ! How their hearts gush forth in thanks 
when they see the raging billows become, at His 
command, as gentle as a lamb, and the furious 
winds as innocent as a little child. 

Children, do not we gather some important 
truths from this Scripture narrative? In the 
storms of adversity and sadness, affliction and 
bereavement, ought we not hear Christ saying to 
us, "It is I; be not afraid?" 



20 "it is i! 



CHRIST STILLING THE TEMPEST. 

The beating rain in torrents fell, 

The thunder muttered loud, 
And fearful men with deep grief dwell 

Before their Saviour bowed. 
The billows lashed the rock-bound shore, 

The howling winds roared by, 
"While feeble cries rose on the gale, 

" Christ, save us, or we die." 

Upon a bed of sweet repose 

Our blessed Saviour lay, 
"While round Him played the lightning's flash 

From out a frowning sky. 
And feeble cries of grief and woe 

"Were heard around His bed, — 
" Oh ! Jesus, wake — we perish now, 

Our courage all has fled." 

The lightnings flashed, the thunder roared, 

The foaming waves rolled by, 
And Jesus calmly rose and said, 

" Fear ye not ; it is I." 
Loud roared the winds in wailing notes, 

The night was cold and chill, 
And to the raging storm He said, 

" Hush, ye winds ; peace, be still." 



u it is i ! " 21 

The winds were stilled, the sea was calm, 

The clouds soon passed away, 
And sunny skies, with golden gleams, 

Beamed on the face of day. 
" What man is this," the seamen cry, 

11 That e'en the sea '11 obey ? 
He only whispered, ' Peace, be still,' 

And darkness passed away." 

Western Recorder. 



THE ORPHAN. 

<; Ax orphan in the cold wide world, 

Dear Lord, I come to Thee : 

Thou, Father of the fatherless, 

My Friend and Father be 1 " 

" Cold is the world without a father's arm to 
shield, and a mother's heart to love. The sun 
shines but dimly on the head of the orphan, for 
sorrow claims such as its own, and no earthly 
power can release from its embrace. When a 
father dies, and she who 'loves with a deep, 
strong, fervent love,' is laid in the grave, then is 
the brightness of earthly existence extinguished." 

Children, how accurately do the above lines 
describe the lonely and forsaken condition of the 
orphan ! 

Have you never felt your little hearts throb 
with sorrow when you saw the children of the 
Orphan Asylum walk quietly down the aisle of 
the church and seat themselves in regular order 
in the front pews? Did not their plain dress 
speak to you in language which you were obliged 

[22] 



THE ORPHAN. 23 

to hear? Did not the prayer arise from your 
breasts, that God would be a Father to the father- 
less, that He would watch over, guide and pro- 
tect, throughout the journey of life, that helpless 
little band of fatherless and motherless children ? 

How lonely must their condition be. No fa- 
ther to counsel, no mother to love, no home 
beneath whose shelter they may rest, but depend- 
ant upon the cold charities of a colder world. 

He who would treat unkindly, or wound the 
feelings of an orphan, is worse than the brute of 
the field. 

My young orphan friends, there is but one 
source to which I can direct you ; there is but 
one friend who will never desert you ; there is 
but one house whose door will never be closed 
against you. 

That source is God ; that friend is Christ ; 
that house is one not made with hands, eternal 
in the heavens. God will counsel you ; upon 
the bosom of Christ you may " lean for repose ; " 
and the angels of heaven will ever welcome you 
to their blest abode. 

The kind father and the loving mother, from 
whom you have been separated by death, you 
shall meet again, if you are Christians. 
, And to you, dear little readers, who know not 



24 THE ORPHAN. 

the length and breadth and depth of a Saviour's 
love, let me say one word : There is no orphan- 
age LIKE THAT OF THE SOUL WHICH LEANS NOT 

upon Christ as its Saviour and Redeemer. 



LAMENT OF AN. ORPHAN. 

11 Homeless, friendless, for many years 
I've wandered far and wide, 

With none to wipe away my tears, 
And none to be my guide. 

" No gentle word to soothe my grief, 

Words so harshly spoken ; 
No tender hand to give relief, 

And now my heart is broken. 

" I sigh to think in former days, 
When by my mother's side 

I watched the sun's last golden rays 
As they sank at eventide. 

" Oft I've played beside the brook, 
My brother's hand in hand, 

As each did seek his favor'd nook, 
Then we 're a merry band. 



THE ORPHAN. 25 

u I have no friends — my mother's gone, 

She is far, far away ; 
I sit beside her lowly stone, 

And sing my plaintive lay. 

" I pray that God will take me home 

To that bright world above ; 
There we shall meet to part no more, 

In that heaven of love. 

" Death has marked me for its own, 

And I no more shall rove ; 
God has called the orphan child 

To praise with Him above. 

" Can you hear my prayer, Mother, 

In yonder region bright ? 
I'm coming to you now, Mother, 

Earth's but a dismal night." 

3 



THE RECORDING ANGEL. 

" Amo.vg the deepest shades of night 

Can there be one who sees my way ? 
Yes, God is as a shining light 

That turns the darkness into day." 

We are told, that during the trial of Bishop 
Cranmer, in England, he heard, as he was making 
his defence before the judges, the scratching of a 
pen behind a screen. The thought at once arose 
in his mind that they were taking down every 
word he uttered. "I should be very careful," 
thought he to himself, " what I say ; for the 
whole of this will be handed down to posterity, 
and exert an untold influence for good or for 
evil." 

Do you know, my young friends, that there is 
a Recording Angel in heaven that takes down 
not only every wicked word you utter, but the 
very thoughts of your minds and desires of your 
hearts ? 

Remember, that though your actions are not 
all seen by men, nor your thoughts known to 

(26) 



THE RECORDING ANGEL. 27 

your companions, yet every action, thought and 
word is carefully recorded in the Book of God's 
Remembrance. 

How chaste, then, should be your conversation, 
how guarded your conduct, how pure your every 
wish ! 

At the day 01 judgment, how full will the pages 
of that book be of your unkind treatment of some 
poor, forsaken little wanderer ; of your revenge- 
ful feelings towards your schoolmate for his lit- 
tle acts of childish thoughtlessness ! 

But is there not some way to blot out these 
dark sins from the Book of God's Remembrance ? 
Yes, there is. Christ has died, that you might 
live. He assures you that though your sins are 
" as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow ; 
though they be red like crimson, they shall be as 
wool." 



THE EYETt-PRESENT GOD. 

" In all my vast concerns with Thee, 

In vain my soul would try 
To shun Thy presence, Lord, or flee 

The notice of Thine eye. 

u Thy all-surrounding sight surveys 

My rising and my rest, 
My public walks, my private ways, 

And secrets of my breast. 

" My thoughts lie open to the Lord 
Before they're formed within ; 

And ere my lips pronounce the word, 
He knows the sense I mean." 



[28] 



THOMAS WARD; OR, THE BOY WHO 
WAS ASHAMED TO PRAY. 

" Come, my soul, thy suit prepare, 
Jesus loves to answer prayer ; 
He Himself has bid thee pray, 
Therefore will not say thee nay." 

Early one morning, in the month of Septem- 
ber, 184-, Mr. Ward's family were assembled 
around the family altar for prayer, to implore 
the blessing and protection of our Heavenly 
Father in behalf of their only boy, who was 
about leaving his home for a distant school. 

Thomas, a boy of about twelve summers, was 
deeply affected by the solemn services, and as he 
arose from his knees his eyes were filled with 
tears, thinking, perhaps, that he might never be 
permitted to enjoy that delightful privilege again. 
His father prayed particularly that God would 
take care of his boy during his absence from his 
parents ; that He would preserve him from all 
dangers ; that He 'would be near him in all his 
temptations ; and, if they should not meet again 
3* [29] 



30 THOMAS WARD. 

on earth, that they might all — father, mother and 
son — meet where the " wicked cease from troub- 
ling, and the weary are at rest." He endeav- 
ored to impress upon his mind the necessity of 
prayer, and that he should never neglect it, under 
any circumstances. DonH be ashamed to pray, 
my son, said his father. 

The ringing of the car-bell announced that in 
a short time he must be off. The most trying 
point had now come, — he must bid his parents 
farewell. Clasping his arms around his mother's 
neck, he said : " Oh, my Mother, my Mother, shall 
I ever see you again ? " and with a kiss to each, 
bade his affectionate parents adieu, and, valise 
in hand, walked hastily to the depot. 

Having procured his ticket, he seated him 
self in the cars, and in a few moments left the 

home of his childhood for the P H 

school, at B . His heart was sad, as he 

thought of the many happy hours he had spent 
"at home'' with his kind parents, and a tear 
stole silently down his cheek. These Bad and 
melancholy thoughts, however, were soon ban- 
ished from his mind by the magnificent scenery 
of the country through which he was passiag. 

He thought " the country," as it was called in 
town, was the loveliest place he had ever seen. 



THOMAS WARD. 31 

Thomas' mind became so much engaged with the 
picturesque scenery — mountains, lakes and val- 
leys — that he reached his place of destination 
ere he supposed he had travelled half-way. 

He met the principal at the depot, awaiting 
his arrival, and in a few moments they were on 
their way to the school. Nothing of interest oc- 
curred during the remainder of the day, with the 
exception of the boys' laughing at Thomas, call- 
ing him "town boy/*' etc. ; "initiating" him, as 
they termed it. When the time for retiring to 
rest drew near, and one after another of the boys 
fell asleep, Thomas was surprised that not one of 
them offered a petition to God, asking Him to 
take care of them during the silent watches of 
the night. He knelt beside his bed, and at- 
tempted to offer a short prayer ; but his compan- 
ions were laughing and singing, and he arose 
from his knees, wishing that he was at home, 
where he could, in his quiet little chamber, offer 
up his evening devotions. Some of the boys were 
actually so rude as to call him " Parson Ward," 
and ask him if he intended holding forth next 
Sabbath ? 

The next night Thomas felt so ashamed, that 
he determined not to pray, and laid his head on 
U prayerless pillow, — a thing he had not done 



32 THOMAS WARD. 

since he was able to say, " Gentle Jesus, meek 
and mild." The last words of his father, " Don't 
be ashamed to pray" came to his mind ; but 
thinking about them as little as possible, he soon 
fell asleep. 

In a short time Thomas became the ringleader 
of the gang in all that was bad, and soon learned 
to curse and swear worse than any of his com- 
panions. 

On a beautiful Sabbath morning, instead of 
going to church, he wandered off, and finding 
nothing to engage his thoughts, determined to 
take a bath. He had scarcely been in the water 
five minutes, when he was seized with cramp, and 
sunk to rise no more. The last words that 
lingered on the lips of the drowning boy were, 
" Oh, my mother ! " 

The awful death of Thomas speaks for itself. 
May it serve as a warning to those who violate 
God's holy commandment, and are ashamed to 
pray. May it also teach us how quickly one sin 
leads to another. His first sin was neglecting 
to pray ; his second, profanity ; his third, Sab- 
bath-breaking, which terminated in his death. 



NOT ASHAMED OF CHRIST. 

" Jesus, and shall it ever be, 
A mortal man ashamed of Thee ? 
Ashamed of Thee, whom angels praise, 
Whose glories shine through endless days ! 

"Ashamed of Jesus ! — Sooner far 
Let evening blush to own a star ; 
He sheds the beams of light divine 
O'er this benighted soul of mine. 

"Ashamed of Jesus ! — Just as soon 
Let midnight be ashamed of noon ; 
'Tis midnight with my souL till He, 
Bright Morning Star, bid darkness flee." 

"Ashamed of Jesus ! that dear friend 
On whom my hopes of Heaven depend ! 
No, when I blush be this my shame, 
That I no more revere His name. 

"Ashamed of Jesus ! — Yes, I may, 
"When I've no sins to wash away, 
No tear to wipe, no good to crave, 
No fears to quell, no soul to save. 

" Till then — nor is my boasting vain — 
Till then I boast a Saviour slain ; 
And oh, may this my glory be, 
That Christ is not ashamed of me." 
[33] 



THE ROSE. 

" There is no rose without a thorn." 

There are few lovelier things than the rose to 
be met with along the pathway of life. 

There is something about it so meek and mod- 
est, that I love to look at it ; and what is sweet- 
er than the mellow fragrance of a beautiful rose? 
It always reminds me of that beautiful country 
where, we are told, never-fading flowers continue 
to bloom forever. 

The Church of Christ is compared, in the 
Bible, to the Rose of Sharon ; and it seems to 
me that the inspired penman could not have 
found, throughout the length and breadth of the 
world, anything better suited to convey the idea 
of gentle lowliness and meek humility, than the 
rose. 

Its fragrance can be enjoyed by all. It is not 
sweeter to the king than to the peasant. So with 
religion. It is a fountain from which all can 
drink. 

(34) 



THE ROSE. 35 

There is another thing about the rose which 
should teach us a lesson. As there is no rose 
without a thorn, so there is no enjoyment with- 
out some pain connected with it. There are 
many children who are always discontented ; 
they are never pleased with any thing, but are 
always looking out for what is disagreeable, and 
not for what is pleasant. What is this, but for- 
getting the delightful fragrance of the rose, and 
piercing our fingers with the few thorns which 
are about it. Our blessings are much more 
numerous than our cares and troubles. Why 
not, then, clip off the thorns, and keep merely the 
fully opened rose ? 

As the leaves of the rose wither and die, so 
must we. 

Let us always remember this, and also live in 
such a way, by shedding a sweet fragrance about 
our pathway, that all who know us will love us, 
and forget the few thorns of evil which may be 
found in our characters. 



36 THE HOSE. 

" How fair is the rose ! what a beautiful flower, 

The glory of April and May ; 
And the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour, 

And they wither and die in a day. 

" Yet the rose has one powerful virtue to boast, 
. Above all the flowers of the field : 
When its leaves are all dead and fine colors lost, 
Still how sweet a perfume it will yield ! 

" So frail is the youth and the beauty of man, 
Though they bloom and look gay like a rose : 

But all our fond care to preserve them is vain, — 
Time kills them as fast as he goes. 

" Then I'll not be proud of my youth or my beauty, 
Since both of them wither and fade, 

But gain a good name by well doing my duty ; 
This will scent like a rose when I'm dead." 



CHILDREN AND THE FLOWERS. 

" ' Flowers, sweet and lowly flowers, 
Gems of earth so bright and gay, 

Is there nothing you can teach us, 
Nothing you to us can say ? 

" ' List, and ye shall hear our voices 
Speaking to you from the sod ; 

List, for we would lead you gently 
Upwards from the earth to God. 

" ' Children, as ye gaze upon us, 
Think of Him who, when below, 

Told you well to mark the flowers, 
How without a care they grow. 

" ' Children, know that like the flowers 
You must quickly fade away : 

Life is short ; improve the hours — 
Tou may only have to-day. 

1 "We were once but seeds, dear children- 
We were placed in earth, and died; 
Tou must die ; but trust in Jesus— 
Fear not, but in Him abide. 

' • ' We proclaim the resurrection, 
How the dead in Christ shall rise ; 

Incorruptible, immortal, 
They shall reign above the skies. 

" ' Farewell, children, and remember, 
When our forms shall meet your view, 

That the Lord, who clothes each flower, 
Will much more provide for you.' " 
4 (37) 



THE LANTERN. 

Gently, Lord, gently lead us 

Through this lonely vale of of tears- 
Through the changes here decreed us, 

Till our last great change appears. 
When temptation's darts assail us, 

When in devious paths we stray, 
Let Thy goodness never fail us — 

Lead us in Thy perfect way. 

Sp. Songs. 

The sun had disappeared behind the western 
hills, and darkness was fast covering the face of 
nature, when a little girl, who had been to a dis- 
tant city, commenced retracing her steps home- 
ward. A kind friend handed her a lantern, and 
told her if she followed the road on which the 
lantern shone, it would certainly direct her home. 
She started with a light heart and joyous spirits, 
much delighted with her journey beside the still 
waters, and through the green pastures. 

By and by she came to a certain place where 
two roads branched off. She did not know 
which one to take ; but soon found that her 
lantern shone very plainly on the one beset with 

thorns and briers. She concluded to disregard 

«(o8) 



THE LANTERN. 39 

the advice of her friend, and took the opposite 
road, as it seemed so much more pleasant than 
the one on which her lantern shone. At first 
her pathway was bordered with roses of the 
sweetest fragrance, and with everthing calculated 
to make a young person happy. Finally she 
reached a point in her journey where she knew 
not what to do. She had no lamp to direct her; 
no kind friend to whom she might look for direc- 
tions; all around her was dark and dismal. 
Wherever she trod, her steps seemed beset with 
troubles of every kind. 

At last a friendly voice whispered in her ear, 
and said: " Stop, my dear child — stop and think. 
You know not whither you are going. You are 
in the road to death. Stop, before you further 
go." 

She determined to turn her course, and retrac- 
ed her steps with a heavy heart, determined 
thereafter always to follow the road on which 
her lantern shone. She soon reached the place 
where she had left her lantern, and found its rays 
still brightly shining on the same road. 

She continued her journey onward, and found, 
though it was rough at first, the farther she pro- 
ceeded, the better was she pleased. When she 
reached her home, she found her friends anxious- 



40 THE LANTERN. 

ly awaiting her arrival. They all greeted her 
with a kiss, and welcomed her back again. 

Children, the little girl about whom I have 
been telling you is the young Christian, com- 
mencing her journey from the city of Destruction 
to the New Jerusalem. The journey is her 
Christian life ; the two roads are the long and 
narrow road to Heaven, and the broad road to 
Hell ; the kind friend is some fellow Christian, 
and the lantern is God's Holy Word. The thorns 
in the one road are the trials of a Christian ; 
while the roses in the other are the allurements 
placed there by the Wicked One, to ensnare the 
careless and inconsiderate. Her home is Heaven. 

Young Christian, learn a lesson from the con- 
duct of this little girl : Never pursue the course 
which seems most pleasant, but the one laid down 
in the Bible. 

" Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet, and a 
light unto my path." 

: ' ' Whither goest thou, pilgrim stranger 
Wand'ring through this lonely vale ? 

Know'st thou not 'tis full of danger, 
And will not thy courage fail ?' 

" ' Pilgrim thou hast justly call'd me, 
Passing through a waste so wide ; 



THE LANTERN. 41 

But no harm will e'er befall me 

"While I'm blessed with such a guide.' 

" ' Such a guide !— no guide attends thee, 

Hence for thee my fears arise : 
If some guardian power befriends thee, 

'Tis unseen by mortal eyes.' 

' ' Yes, unseen, but still believe me, 

I have near me such a friend ; 
He'll in every strait relieve me, 
He will guide me to the end.' " 



HEAVEN IS MY HOME. 

" I'm but a stranger here ; 

Heaven is my home : 
Earth is a desert drear ; 

Heaven is my home : 
Danger and sorrow stand 
Round me on every hand 
Heaven is my fatherland, 

Heaven is my home. 

" What though the tempests rago ? 

Heaven is my home : 
Short is my pilgrimage ; 

Heaven is my home : 
And time's wild wintry blast 
Soon will be overpast ; 
I shall reach home at last • 

Heaven is my home. 

" Therefore I murmur not ; 

Heaven is my home : 
Whate'er my earthly lot, 

Heaven is my home : 
And I shall surely stand 
There at my Lord's right hand : 
Heaven is my fatherland, 

Heaven is my home." 



(42) 



THE DECISIVE MOMENT. 

" There is a time, we know not when, — 
A point, we know not where, — 
That marks the destiny of men 
To glory or despair." 

Not many years ago, when the H river 

was very much swollen by the spring rains, and 
the water had nearly reached its highest point, 
a lumberman was seen in the midst of the 
stream, attempting to secure a lot of timber 
which had broken loose from its fastening. 

In his deep interest to secure the timber, he 
went too far out into the current. His little 
bark was caught by the rapid tide, and borne 
along with almost lightning rapidity. 

There he sat, motionless as a pillar, not know- 
ing at what moment he should be swallowed up 
by the roaring and foaming stream. A friend 
on shore sees his critical situation, mounts his 
horse, and rides, courier-like, to a neighboring 
bridge which spans the river. On and on he 

(43) 



44 THE DECISIVE MOMENT. 

speeds ; now the rider and the boat are side by 
side ; anon the boat passes him, but he spur? his 
noble animal onward, reaches the bridge in time, 
seizes a rope and throws it over the arch, await- 
ing with breathless suspense the approach of the 
pale and fear-stricken lumberman. 

The boat passes immediately under the arch, 
the boatman grasps the rope with death-like 
earnestness, and is saved. 

One moment's delay of the rider, or his failure 
to grasp the rope, would have sealed his doom 
forever, and the noble H been his grave. 

My dear young friends, how often do we see 
persons, in their mad attempts to procure the 
filthy lucre of this world, go too far into the cur- 
rent of Sin, and are swept wildly over the cata- 
ract of Destruction, not knowing, or not desiring 
to see, that the rope of Salvation is within their 
grasp ! Children, Christ bids you come, noiv. 
If you delay another moment, your destiny for 
despair may be sealed. 

How bitter will the thought be, when you 
come to die, — " I might have been saved, but I 
neglected the golden offering of mercy, and 
therefore must be consigned to a never-ending 
eternity of misery and suffering ! " 



THE VALUE OF TIME. 

If idly spent, no art or care 

Time's blessing can restore ; 
And God requires a strict account 

For every misspent hour. 

Short is our longest day of life, 
And soon the prospect ends ; 
Tet on that day's uncertain date 
Eternity depends. 

Poems for the Young. 
[45] 



THE ALARM WATCH. 

But if we should disregard 

While this friendly voice doth call, 
Conscience soon will grow so hard, 

That it will not speak at all. 

Jane Taylor. 

A young lady, who was very much given to 
the habit of sleeping late in the morning, pur- 
chased a small alarm watch, hoping that it would 
be the means of breaking her of a practice not 
only troublesome to those around her, but really 
a sinful waste of time. At night, on retiring to 
rest, she so adjusted the watch that it would 
awaken her at five o'clock the next morning. 
The watch, with a punctuality worthy to be imi- 
tated by all of us, not only at the appointed 
hour, but at the very minute itself, commenced 
such a whirring noise, that the sleeper was im- 
mediately awakened, arose at once, and prepared 
herself for the duties of the day. 

The day passed away very pleasantly. She 
was at prayers and breakfast at the appointed 

(46) 



THE ALARM WATCH. 47 

hour, and everything moved quietly and pleas- 
antly on throughout the entire day ; and when 
the shadows of evening darkened the face of 
nature, she felt that it was the most pleasant day 
she had ever spent. 

She retired to rest, the next night, with the 
same resolutions ; but when the morning came 
and her watch commenced its rattling noise, she 
thought it was not worth while to get up then, 
but would lie in bed only fifteen minutes longer. 
The expiration of the fifteeen minutes found her 
sleeping soundly, and she did not awake till the 
sun had risen far above the tree-tops, and the 
laborers were busy at their work. 

The next morning she heard her watch at its 
accustomed noise, but came to the conclusion 
that getting up ahead of the sun was all a 
humbug. 

The next morning she slept so soundly that 
she scarcely heard the watch at all ; and that 
night concluded not to wind it up, as she had no 
idea of having her morning's nap disturbed by 
such a disagreeable noise as that. Thus did she 
return to her former bad habit, and " her last 
state was worse than the first." 

Each of you, my dear young friends, has an 
alarm watch in your breast. The moment you 



48 THE ALARM WATCH. 

disobey your parents, utter an untruth, use a 
profane expression, or break God's Holy Day, 
you hear the busy fluttering of that watch whis- 
pering in your ear, " you have done wrong, you 
have done wrong." The first time you did wrong 
how loudly did that little watch whir and buzz ! 
You turned pale, and your heart throbbed so 
violently that you could almost hear it. 

The next time its noise was fainter and fainter ; 
and at last it grew so feeble that you could not 
hear it all. 

Then it was that you could swear so boldly 
utter an untruth without your cheek coloring, 
and break the Sabbath without one painful 
thought. 

My young reader, you know too well what that 
alarm watch is, whose ticking you so frequently 
hear in your breast. It is your Conscience. 
And oli, how I tremble when I think of what an 
awful thing it is to endeavor to drown the voice 
of that conscience ! 

Pay after day, since your early infancy, your 
conscience has been begging, entreating you to 
come to Christ and be saved. Its voice has been 
unheeded. Beware, young man or young 
woman, how you trifle with your conscience ! Its 
voice, once stifled, will be hushed forever. 



THE ALARM WATCH. 49 

Like the young lady about whom I have been 
telling you, if you do not obey its summons at 
once, but keep on putting it off and off, it will 
leave you in the awful embrace of that sleep 
" which knows no waking " in this world, and 
you will only be aroused by the piercing notes 
of the Archangel's trump, — " Come to judgment." 

Conscience, my young friends, is " the fire that 
is not quenched," and " the worm that dieth not," 
which shall continue to burn, yet not consume, 
to gnaw and not diminish your immortal soul, if 
you do not obey its whisperings by coming to 
your Saviour, now, in the morning of life. 

How awful ! oh, how awful will it be, to hear 
the voice of your disregarded conscience ringing 
throughout the dark, deep caverns of hell :— 

" Because I have called, and ye refused ; I 
have stretched out my hand, and no man re- 
garded : I also will laugh at your calamity ; I 
will mock when your fear cometh ; when your 
fear cometh as a desolation, and your destruction 
cometh as a whirlwind ; when distress and anguish 
cometh upon you." 



CONSCIENCE. 

When a foolish thought within 

Tries to take us in a snare, 
Conscience tells us " It is sin," 

And entreats us to beware. 

If in something we transgress, 

And are tempted to deny, 
Conscience says, " Your faults confess; 

Do not dare to tell a lie." 

In the morning, when we rise, 

And would fain omit to pray, 
"Child, consider," Conscience cries; 

" Should not God be sought to-day ?" 

When within His holy walls, 

Far abroad our thoughts we send, 

Conscience often loudly calls. 
And entreats us to attend. 

When our angry passions rise, 

Tempting to revenge an ill, 
"Now subdue it," Conscience cries; 

u Do command your temper still." 

Thus, without our will or choice, 

. This good monitor within, 

With a secret, gentle voice, , 

Warns us to beware of sin. 

But if we should disregard 

While this friendly voice doth call, 
Conscience soon will grow so hard 
That it will not speak at all. 

Jane Taylor. 
(50) 



"CONDEMNED." 

"Now, despisers, look and wonder ; 
Hope and sinners here must part : 
Louder than a peal of thunder, 
Hear the dreadful sound — ' Depart !' 

Lost forever ! 
Hear the dreadful sound — f Depart !'" 

I saw, not long since, a man busily engaged in 
branding, with a red-hot iron, the word 

" condemned/' 

on a large number of barrels of flour. 

On asking him what it meant, he informed me 
that the flour was not sound, and he was instruct- 
ed to brand all such " Condemned" 

How forcibly, my dear young friends, did it 
remind me of the situation of sinful persons — 
those who have no part nor lot in Christ's king- 
dom ! What a melancholy spectacle would your 
Sabbath-school present, if your Superintendent 
were instructed by a Divine command to brand 
all the bad boys, and girls too — for we often find 
little girls as bad as boys — " Condemned /" 
What would be their feelings while undergoing 

[51] 



52 " CONDEMNED." 

such a painful and disgraceful operation ? Yet 
God says those who believe not on Christ arc 
condemned already, and you know " His Word 
is truth." There is one, and only one, way by 
which this word can be effaced from your guilty 
and sin-defiled hearts ; and that is by the purify- 
ing and sin-cleansing blood of Christ. 

Then pray that He will " Create in you clean 
hearts, and renew right spirits within you ;" so 
that you may love Him better and serve Him 
more faithfully in the future than you have done 
in the past. 



THE SPIRIT QUENCHED. 

There is a line, by us unseen, 

That crosses every path ; 
The hidden boundary between 

God's patience and his wrath. 

To pass that limit is to die, 

To die as if by stealth ; 
It does not quench the beaming eye, 

Or pale the glow of health. 

The conscience may be still at ease, 

The spirits light and gay ; 
ITi at which is pleasing still may please, 

And care be thrust away. 

But on that forehead G-od has set 

Indelibly a mark, 
Unseen by man, for man as yet 

Is blind and in the dark. 

And yet the doomed man's path below 
May bloom, as Eden bloomed ; 

He did not, does not, will not know, 
Or feel that he is doomed. 

He knows, he feels that all is well, 
And every fear is calmed ; 

He lives, he dies, he wakes in hell, 
Not only doomed, but damned 
5* ' [53] 



54 THE SPIRIT QUENCHED. 

where is this mysterious bourne, 

By which our path is crossed ? 
Beyond which God Himself hath sworn, 

That he who goes is lost ! 

How far may we go on in sin ? 

How long will God forbear ? 
Where does hope end, and where begin 

The confines of despair ? 

An answer from the skies is sent : 

" Ye that from God depart, 
While it is called to-day, repent, 

And harden not your heart." 

DR. J. ADDISON ALEXANDER. 



" I WANT TO BE A MINISTER." 

Lives of great men all remind us 

"We can make our lives sublime ; 
And, departing, leave behind us 

Footprints on the sands of Time. 

Longfellow. 

More than a century ago there lived in Eng- 
land an orphan boy of no ordinary promise. 
From his early childhood, " I want to be a min- 
ister," was his chief desire. Being deprived not 
only of the counsel of a father and the affection 
of a mother, but also of the necessary amount 
of money to carry out his cherished desire, his 
youthful spirit was bowed to the earth, and his 
noble heart throbbed only with feelings of bitter 
disappointment and despair. 

But a brighter day dawns. There is a pros- 
pect for his ardent desire to be gratified. A 
wealthy lady kindly volunteers to pay all of his 
expenses at the University of Oxford, if he will 
become a minister of the Church of England. 

But he is a Dissenter, and his noble spirit re- 
fuses to sell the religion of his father and moth- 

(55) 



56 "I WANT TO BE A MINISTER." 

er for the perishable riches of this world, and 
he most respectfully declines the proffered kind- 
ness. God bless thee, noble youth! Wait pa- 
tiently — don't despair — never give tq?. " Where 
there's a will, there's a way." The path of Duty 
is always the path of Right. 

Not long after this occurrence, a poor boy, 
dressed in the garb of poverty, presented him- 
self at the door of a celebrated minister, and 
asked to have a private interview with him rela- 
tive to studying for the ministry. The minister 
listened patiently to the recital of his many dif- 
ficulties and numerous trials, but told him that 
he thought it entirely unheard of, for a youth 
like himself to think about entering upon so high 
and responsible a calling. He advised him to 
think no more of preaching, but to choose some 
other calling. 

Disheartened at himself, discouraged by his 
friends, poor, penniless and forsaken, he knew 
not whither to go. No smile of encouragement 
met his eye ; no voice of approval sanctioned 
his noble endeavor. There was one Friend, how- 
ever, who had never forsaken him ; who had nev- 
er turned a deaf ear even to his smallest desire ; 
who had ever loved him with fatherly affection 
and motherly tenderness. To that friend he then 



"i WANT TO BE A MINISTER." 57 

betook himself, and when engaged in fervent 
prayer, a postman knocked at the door, and hand- 
ed him a letter from an old friend of his father, 
informing him of his willingness to take him un- 
der his care and assist him in his studies, if he 
was still intent upon studying for the ministry. 
" This," he exclaimed, " I look upon almost as an 
answer from Heaven, and while I live I shall al- 
ways adore so seasonable an opening of divine 
Providence." 

The wishes of the poor orphan boy were thus 
gratified ; and before many years had passed 
away, under the guidance and instruction of his 
friend, he became a bright and shining light on 
the walls of Zion. 

Youthful reader, this orphan boy was Philip 
Doddridge — the pious and devoted minister of 
Christ, the beautiful writer, the faithful pastor, 
the brilliant Christian. 

If there be any one into whose hands this lit- 
tle article may fall, who, like Doddridge, " wants 
to be a minister," and is prevented from accom- 
plishing his desire on account of want of means, 
let me say one word — never despair ! If God 
wants you to be a minister, He will provide the 
means. Wait patiently, and pray earnestly. 



58 "I WANT TO BE A MINISTER." 

" Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take ; 
The clouds ye so much dread, 
Are big with mercy, and shall break 
In blessings on your head." 



TRUST IN PROYIDENCE. 

" On a bridge I was standing one morning, 
And watching the current roll by, 

"When suddenly into the water 
There fell an unfortunate fly. 

" The fishes that swam to the surface 
Were looking for something to eat, 

And I thought that the hapless young insect 
Would surely afford them a treat. 

" ' Poor thing I' I exclaimed with compassion, 

' Thy trials and dangers abound, 
For if thou escap'st being eaten, 

Thou canst not escape being drowned. 

" No sooner the sentence was spoken, 

Than lo ! like an angel of love, 
I saw to the waters beneath me 

A leaflet descend from above. 



TRUST IN PROVIDENCE. 59 

" It glided serene on the streamlet, 

'Twas an ark to the poor little fly ; 
Which soon, to the land reiiscending, 

Spread its wings in the breezes to dry. 

" Oh, sweet was the truth that was whispered, 

That mortals should never despair ; 
For He who takes care of an insect, 

Much more for His children will care. 

" And though to our short-sighted vision 

No way of escape may appear, 
Let us trust, for when least we expect it, 

The help of ' our Father ' is near." 



6* 



RUFUS TAYLOR. 

Children, obey your parents in all things ; for this is well-pleasing un- 
to the Lord.— Bible. 

On an evening in July, 18 — , as several youths, 
from twelve to eighteen years of age, were stand- 
ing at the corner of a street in the little village 
of B , Rufus Taylor, one of their compan- 
ions, came up to them and said, " Come, boys, 
let's go and take a cool bath — 'tis terribly 
warm." 

Rufus had been positively forbidden by his par- 
ents to go bathing without their consent ; but, 
thinking they would never know anything about 
it, he came up to the group of boys and made the 
preceding proposition. 

They all, with one consent, agreed to it, and 
soon were on their way to the bay. 

Arriving at their famous bathing spot, and un- 
dressing in a few moments, they soon plunged in- 
to the cooling water, and swam to an island, a 
few hundred yards distant. 

Rufus alone remained on the shore. 

[60] 



RUFUS TAYLOR. 61 

He was afraid to attempt swimming such a 
long distance, as he had but recently learned to 
swim. But, collecting all his courage, he follow- 
ed his comrades, and cried out, that he would 
overtake them or be damned! What an awful 
word to proceed from the lips of a boy twelve 
years old ! He had not swum more than fifty 
yards, when his strength failed, and he sank be- 
neath the blue waves of the roaring ocean. Ev- 
ery effort was made by his friends to save him, 
but they were all in vain. 

Let his untimely end be a solemn warning to 
boys who are in the habit of disobeying their 
parents. 

May it teach a lesson, also, to those who in- 
dulge in the use of profane language. Rufus did 
not think that his damnation was so near at hand, 
when he uttered that awful curse. 

He was hurried into the presence of his Ma- 
ker without one moment's warning, and with the 
' profane expression still lingering on his lips. 

Who can tell the unutterable anguish of his 
parents when the intelligence of the death of 
their only son — their disobedient boy — reached 
their ears ? His father, on being told that his 
son was drowned, exclaimed, " Oh, my disobedient 
son ! I told him not to go bathing without my con- 
sent. Would to God I had died for him /" 



OBEDIENCE TO PARENTS. 

" Let children that would fear the Lord, 

Hear what their teachers say ; 
With reverence mark their parents' word, 

And with delight obey. 

11 Have you not heard what dreadful plagues 

Are threaten' d by the Lord 
To him that breaks his father's laws, 

Or mocks his mother's word ? 

" "What heavy guilt upon him lies! 

How cursed is his name ! 
The ravens shall pick out his eyes, 

And eagles eat the same. 

" But those that worship God, and give 

Their parents honor due, 
Here on this earth they long shall live, 

And live hereafter too." 



(62) 



JAMES JONES; 

OR, THE LITTLE GAMBLER. 

" Make us unguarded youth 
The objects of Thy care ; 
Help us to choose the way of truth, 
And fly from every snare." 

" What can be meant by ' the little gambler V 
I never heard of a boy's gambling in my life I" 
my little reader will, no doubt, exclaim. Though 
it may seem very strange, yet such things often 
occur. I will relate to you an incident that oc- 
curred in my school-boy days, which, perhaps, 
may bring to your recollection the fact that you 
have indulged in it yourself. Boys as well as 
men are frequently found to be gamblers, though, 
of course, on a much smaller scale. 

At the corner of a street in the city of 

was a gaming house, kept by a boy not more 
than twelve years old. It was one of the most 
beautiful and pleasant places I ever saw, Well 
calculated to entice within its polluted walls the 
heedless and inconsiderate youth. Here, after 

(63) 



64 THE LITTLE GAMBLER. 

school hours, quite a number of boys were accus- 
tomed to assemble and spend their evenings. 

Passing near the above place one pleasant 
evening in May, I saw a youth, whom I shall call 
James Jones, who seemed to be intently engaged 
in the issue of a game. He was successful ; and 
when he gathered up the " stakes," a smile of ex- 
ulting joy passed over his face. I saw nothing 
more of James till some eight years after the 
above occurrence. I was standing in the court- 
room one morning, when I heard the clerk read 
out a charge against James Jones for forcibly 
breaking into the trunk of a certain gentleman, 
and stealing therefrom the sum of $500. 

On examining the appearance of the young 
man more closely, I found him to be the same 
youth whom I had seen in the " little gambling 
house." A widowed mother sat by his side, weep- 
ing most bitterly. His appearance had altered 
very much. Long confinement had turned the 
healthy, robust man into a mere skeleton. His 
countenance was haggard, his cheek sunken, his 
eye dim, his step tremulous. 

Be was found guilty, and sentenced to five 
years' imprisonment in the State Penitentiary. 
When he arose to receive the sentence the most 
perfect indifference was manifested by him, while 



THE LITTLE GAMBLE R. 65 

his poor mother seemed as though she would die 
beneath the weight of such heavy affliction. 

She informed me that James, at a very early 
age, became fond of bad company, and would of- 
ten steal away at night, and spend the time al- 
lotted to rest in the most dissipated assemblies. 
He finally became involved in debt, and deter- 
mined to get out at all hazards. He was thus 
almost forced to commit a deed which brought 
the grey hairs of his mother in sorrow to the 
grave, and ruined him for life. 

Doubtless, you would like to know what was 
James' first act in his downward career. It was 
betting at the " little gambling house" There he 
learned to do evil rather than good. 

I have neglected to explain to you what the 
gambling house was. It was a wide-spreading 
elm tree, beneath the hospitable shade of which 
the boys of the neighborhood were accustomed to 
meet and play marbles for have-ance ; that is, 
each boy kept all the marbles he knocked out of 
the ring. 

Have any of you ever been guilty of this ? If 
so, then you were gambling, and, unless you stop 
it at once, the gallows or the peniteotiary may be 
your end. Do not gamble with marbles; it may 
be your ruin. Truly, " The way of the trans- 
gressor is hard." 



66 THE LITTLE GAMBLER. 



" Placed on the verge of youth, my mind 
Life's opening scene surveyed ; 

I viewed its ills of various kinds, 
Afflicted and afraid. 

II Oh, how shall I, with heart prepar'd, 
Those terrors learn to meet ? 

How from the thousand snares to guard 
My inexperienced feet ? 

" Let faith suppress each rising fear, 

Each anxious doubt exclude ; 
My Maker's will has placed me here, 

A Maker wise and good. 

" He too, my every trial knows 

Its just restraint to give, 
Attentive to behold my woes, 

And faithful to relieve. 

" Though griefs unnumbered throng thee round, 

Still in thy God confide, 
Whose finger marks the seas their bound, 

And curbs the rolling tide." 



TAKE HEED. 

1 Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he falL' ; 

" Let him who thinks he stands secure, 
And in self-confidence is sure 
He shall unto the end endure, 

1 Take heed.' 

" Let him who fears not Satan's art, 
Nor dreads temptation's fiery dart, 
But says he's safe in every part, 
' Take heed.' 

" Let him who sees his neighbor wrong, 
And makes those faults his daily song, 
Blasting his fame with thoughtless tongue, 
Take heed.' 

" Let him whose heart is lifted high, 
Who'll pass an erring brother by, 
Or bid him from his presence fly, 
' Take heed,' 

" Who feels not his own strength is small, 
Nor lifts to heaven an early call 
For daily grace, lest he should fall, 
1 Take heed.' 

" By faith in ' Christ our strength ' we stand, 
He keeps by His almighty hand, 
Those who obey His wise command : 
1 Take heed.' " 

(6*) 



GERTRUDE MASON. 

" Come, children, come ! 
God bids you come I 
Come and learn to sing the story 
Of the Lord of life and glory ; 
Come, children, come I" 

Mrs. Browjt. 

Gertrude Mason was a sweet little girl of 
about ten summers, with rosy cheeks, and bright, 
sunny hair. 

She did not live in the city, like a great many 
children, but she lived at a quiet little cottage 
in the country, which she called " Rose Neath." 

Gertrude was a good child. 

She loved everybody, and everybody seemed 
to love her. 

She was meek and gentle, and was always wil- 
ling to do any thing she could to minister to the 
wants of the poor and needy. 

Gertrude had a beautiful Newfoundland dog, 
named Rescue, and wherever she went, her friend 
Rescue was always at her side. She loved him 
very much, and used to give him part of her 

f68] 



GERTRUDE MASON. 69 

meals every day. One lovely Sabbath morning, 
when the sun was shining brightly, and the lit- 
tle birds singing sweetly from the boughs of the 
trees, Gertrude, dressed neatly and tidily, hymn- 
book and catechism in hand, started off for the 
Sabbath-school. 

She had not gone very far, when she came to 
a creek. 

Thrown across this creek was a log, on which 
persons were in the habit of crossing. 

It had rained the night before, and the log was 
very slippery. Gertrude did not think of this, 
and was about crossing over, when her foot 
slipped, and she was thrown headlong into the 
swollen current. 

She would have been drowned, had it not been 
for her faithful friend Eescue, who swam in and 
brought her safely to the shore. 

Thus was the life of this lovely girl saved by 
her affectionate dog. 

This little story should teach us two lessons. 

First, if we wish persons to love us, we must 
be kind and attentive to them. 

Secondly, the pathway of life is very slippery, 
and many of our companions fall into very great 
sins, and it is pur duty, like Eescue, to save them 
from destruction. 



"REMEMBER THY CREATOR IN THE DAYS OF THY 
YOUTH." 

While in the tender years of youth, 

In nature's smiling bloom, 
Ere age arrive and trembling wait 

Its summons to the tomb, 

Remember thy creator, God, 

For Him thy powers employ ; 
Make Him thy fear, thy love, thy hope, 

Thy confidence, thy joy. 

He shall defend and guide thy course 

Through life's uncertain sea, 
Till thou art landed on the shore 

Of blest eternity. j 

Then seek the Lord betimes, and choose 

The path of heavenly truth : 
The earth affords no lovlier sight 

Than a religious youth. 

Gibbons. 



THE DEAF SHOEMAKER. 



Toiling — rejoicing — sorrowing, 
Onward through life he goes, 
Each morning sees some task hegun, 
Each evening sees its close ; 
Something attempted, something done, 
Has earned a night's repose. 

Longfellow. 



Beneath the scorching rays of a blistering sum- 
mer's sun, or chilled by the piercing blast of win- 
ter, a puny, sickly youth might have been seen 
daily ascending a ladder, bearing on his head a 
heavy weight of slate. There is nothing about 
his appearance but his feeble step and emaciated 
frame, calculated to attract the attention of the 
passer-by: a closer observation, however, will 
show that he possesses an eye which bespeaks an 
amount of patient perseverance but seldom 
known. 

On one occasion, when about twelve years of 
age, while engaged in his accustomed labor, his 
foot misses the round of the ladder which he had 
so long ascended, and the infirm youth is thrown 



72 THE DEAF SHOEMAKER. 

a distance of thirty-five feet on the hard stone 
pavement beneath. In a state of perfect insensi- 
bility he is taken up and borne to the arms of his 
afflicted friends. For two long weeks he re- 
mains in a state of unconsciousness, not knowing 
the nearest and dearest of his relatives. 

At the expiration of this time his mind begins 
to revive, and his feeble eye wanders about the 
room with listless indifference. Recovering from 
his attack, he immediately inquires for a book in 
which he had been deeply interested previous to 
the accident which came so near terminating his 
earthly career. 

No one seems to answer his inquiries. ;> Why 
do you not speak ? Pray let me have my book ! 
Still no one replies. At last some one takes a 
slate and writes upon it that the book had been 
returned to its owner. 

" Why do you write to me ?" exclaimed the suf- 
ferer— * li speak, speak ! speak !" Again was the 
pencil taken and the three words— you are deaf 
— written. 

How severe the affliction! No more can that 
ear drink in the sweet melody of the little war- 
blers; no more listen to those words of affection 
which make home the brightest and happiest spot 
in the world: no more hear the gentle notes of 



THE DEAF SHOEMAKER. 73 

the " sweet singer of Israel," or gather the soul- 
stirring anthems that echo and reecho through 
the vaulted roof of God's sanctuary. 

As his father was very poor, he was placed in 
an almshouse to keep him from starvation. 

He was soon removed, however, from his lone- 
ly prison home, and placed under a shoemaker, 
but was treated so unkindly that his friends 
found it necessary to have him again put in the 
poorhouse. 

His studious habits and intellectual qualities 
soon attracted the notice of the officers of the 
almshouse, and he was treated with marked 
kindness and attention. While others were 
wasting the golden moments of youth, the deaf 
shoemaker was busy garnering his spare minutes, 
and storing his mind with information which 
was destined to exert an influence throughout 
the world. 

• In a short time he was removed to the London 
Missionary Society, whence he went to Malta as 
a printer. 

Here he studied very closely, and, after return- 
ing to London, accompanied Mr. Groves in a 
tour through Russia, Georgia, Armenia, Kurdis- 
tan and Persia. 

During this tour he gathered a vast amount of 
7 



74 THE DEAF SHOEMAKER. 

information relative to Eastern manners and cus- 
toms, which rendered him one of the most in- 
structive and interesting writers in the world. 

He published, as the fruit of his arduous toil 
during this journey, quite a number of books, 
which have been greatly sought after both in 
Europe and America, and have made him a wel- 
come guest at thousands of happy firesides. 

His toilsome and unceasing labors for the cause 
of truth and religion were too severe for so 
feeble a frame, and at an early age, not fifty 
years old, John Kitto — the deaf shoemaker of 
Plymouth — gently fell asleep in the arms of his 
Saviour — beloved and respected by all who 
knew him, and honored by those who had be- 
come familiar with him from his deeply interest- 
ing and invaluable productions. 

In speaking of Kitto, a clergyman of consid- 
erable distinction uses the following beautiful 
language : — 

" Rarely have we read a more touching record 
of heroic struggle than the toilsome ascent of 
the deaf boy of Plymouth to the lofty position 
of the world-famed Editor of the Biblical Ency- 
clopaedia, the Pictorial Bible, the Daily Bible Il- 
lustrations, lie reached, through incredible dif- 
ficulties, a position that few attain under the most 



THE DEAF SHOEMAKER. 75 

favorable circumstances, and has left behind him 
nearly fifty volumes, some of which take high 
rank as works of critical authority. Truly the 
heroic ages have not yet ceased, and there is a 
heroism of the solitary student that is a nobler 
thing than that of the warrior on the field of 
battle ; and such heroism is seen in the life of 
Kitto." 

My young friends, how touchingly beautiful 
and highly instructive is the brief but brilliant 
life of John Kitto ! Do not 

" lives of such men all remind us 

We can make our lives sublime, 
And, departing, leave behind us 

Footprints on the sands of Time — 

" Footprints, that perhaps another, 

Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 

Seeing, shall take heart again ?" 



THE CHILD OF POVERTY. 

Lord, I am poor, yet hear my call ; 

Afford me daily bread ; 
Give me at least the crumbs that fall 

From tables richly spread. 

Thou canst for all my wants provide, 

And bless my homely crust ; 
The ravens cry, and are supplied, 

And ought I not to trust ? 

Behold the lilies, how they grow, 
Though they can nothing do ; 

And will not God who clothes them so, 
Afford me raiment too ? 

may I heavenly treasures find, 

And choose the better part : 
Give me an humble, pious mind, 

A meek and lowly heart. 

Jane Taylor. 

(76) 



NORMAN HALL; 

OR, THE BOY AND THE ROOK. 

" Blessings, Lord, vouchsafe to give 
. On the teaching I receive." 

Norman Hall was what most of us would call 
a " dull boy f that is, though he studied hard, 
yet he was never ahead in his classes, and could 
not master his lessons as easily as a great many 
other boys. He was respected and beloved not 
only by his teacher, but also by the scholars. 
His father and mother both felt very sad because 
their only boy did not rank among the first in 
his class, and knew not how to account for it. 

One Friday, Norman missed nearly all of his 
' lessons, and was so much discouraged that he al- 
most determined to quit studying entirely and go 
to some honest trade. He left the school-room 
with tears in his eyes, thinking that he had enter- 
ed it for the last time. As he was going home, 
he saw a large and deep hole in a rock, which a 
small stream, by continually falling in the same 
place, had worn. It was the very thing he need- 

7* * (T7) 



78 THE BOY AND THE ROCK. 

ed, and suited him exactly. The thought at once 
arose in his mind, if a little stream, so soft in it- 
self, can make such a deep and lasting impression 
on this hard and flinty rock, I am sure, by hard 
studying and close application, I can make an 
impression on my mind, which certainly is not as 
hard as this rock. 

He returned to school on Monday, and studied 
more diligently than he had ever done before ; and 
as he grew in years, he grew in understanding, 
and at length became a learned man. 

Remember, " That a drop hollows out the stone 
not by force, but by falling often ; so you will 
become learned, not by a violent effort, but by 
frequent reading." 



THE SLUGGARD. 

'Tis the voice of the sluggard ; I heard him complain, 
• You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again.' 
As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed, 
Turns his sides and his shoulders, and his heavy head. 

" A little more sleep, and a little more slumber ;" 

Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number ; 

And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands, 

Or walks about sauntering, or trifling he stands. 

I passed by his garden, and saw the wild brier, 
The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher : 
The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags, 
And his money still wastes, till he starves or he begs. 

I made him a visit, still hoping to find 

He had took better care for improving his mind ; 

He told me his dreams, talk'd of eating and drinking ; 

But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking 

Said I then to my heart, " Here's a lesson for me," 
This man's but a picture of what I might be ; 
But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding, 
Who taught me betimes to love working and reading. 

Watts. 
(79) 



"DELAY NOT." 

' Delay not, delay not, sinner, draw near ; 
The waters of life are now flowing for thee ; 
No price is demanded, the Saviour is here, 
Salvation is purchased, redemption is free." 

The sun was hanging low in the West ; dark 
and threatening banks of lead-colored clouds 
were moving slowly across the heavens ; the dis- 
tant muttering of thunder, and quick and piercing 
flashes of lightning, bade me prepare for the ap- 
proaching storm. In circumstances like these, I 
was riding slowly along the banks of a canal, 
when my attention was attracted by the appear- 
ance of a small house, which sat just above my 
head, on a little eminence. Seeing the storm was 
rapidly approaching, I thought it would be a 
good shelter from the rain. 

The unhinged shutters, the broken panes of 
glass whose places were supplied by dirty rags, 
the large cracks between the logs, all told too 
plainly that withering poverty had there an 
abode. After repeated knocks at the door, a 

(80) 



"delay not." 81 

woman made her appearance. Such a human 
being I had never seen. She looked more like 
a fiend from the regions of the damned, than 
a living and immortal soul. Her cheek was 
sunken ; her eye dim and staring wildly about ; 
her hair thrown loosely over her shoulders ; her 
feet uncovered ; and her person clad in the most 
filthy and disgusting manner. 

She did not seem accustomed to seeing strange 
faces, and gave me such a wild stare that my very 
blood chilled in my veins. There we both stood. 
For some moments not a word was uttered by 
either. I was waiting to see if she would ask 
me to take a seat. This she did not do ; and 
feeling that I had a matter of more importance 
than politeness to attend to — her souVs welfare — I 
sat down on the remains of what was once a 
chair, and commenced the following conversa- 
tion : 

" Are you a Christian ?" " No." " Do you 
ever expect or hope to be a Christian ?" " No." 
" Have you ever felt the workings of God's Spirit 
upon your heart ?" " Never, since a child." 
" Have you at any period in your past life ever 
read your Bible ?" " Yes, I read it when a 
school-girl." " Did you not see a peculiar beauty 
and simplicity in it f* " I did not." " Do you 



82 "delay not." 

believe in the Bible ? M " Yes," she angrily 
replied, " I believe it to be a lie from beginning to 
end" " Have you ever read any other books be- 
sides the Bible ?" " I have read Bunyan's Pil- 
grim's Progress, and believe that he was as com- 
plete a liar as ever lived, and never experienced 
one feeling described in that book, but wrote it 
only to deceive the foolish common people." 
" Are you, in your present situation, willing to 
die ?" " Yes, and willing to go to hell, and stay 
there forever and ever /" 

Giving her several tracts on infidelity, which 
she contemptuously threw on the floor, I invoked 
a Father's blessing on her, and departed — never 
to meet again till we stand around the judgment- 
seat of Christ. 

The clouds which were wandering over the 
heavens when I entered the house, had collected 
in a mass, and produced one of the most awful 
storms I ever witnessed in my life. The wind 
blew most furiously ; the rain poured in torrents ; 
peal after peal of the most deafening thunder 
echoed and reechoed among the mountain crags ; 
and Hash after flash of piercing lightning darted 
across the heavens. But, my dear young friends, 
this storm did not compare, in its madness and 
fury, with that still more awful storm of despair 



"delay not." 83 

and hopeless agony which was raging in the breast 
of her from whom I had just parted. 

Dear young friends, do not put off till to-mor- 
row the eternal interests of your immortal souls. 
Remember — oh, remember the terrible condition 
of the woman about whom I have been telling 
you. 



THE DANGER OF DELAY. 

Why should I say, " 'Tis yet too soon 
To seek for Heaven or think of death ?" 

A flower may fade before 'tis noon, 
And I this day may lose my breath. 

If this rebellious heart of mine 
Despise the gracious calls of Heaven, 

1 may be harden' d in my sin, 

And never have repentance given. 

"What if the Lord grow wroth and swear, 
While I refuse to read and pray, 

That He'll refuse to lend an ear 
To all my groans another day 1 

What if His dreadful anger burn, 
While I refuse His offer'd grace, 

And all His love to fury turn, 

And strike me dead upon the place i 

'Tis daugerous to provoke a God ! 

His power and vengeance none can tell : 
One stroke of His almighty rod 

Shall send young sinners quick to Hell ! 

Then 'twill forever be in vain 
To cry for pardon and for grace ; 

To wish I had my time again, 
Or hope to see my Maker's face. 

WATTfl. 

(84) 



THE SAVIOUR. 

One there is, above all others, 
Who deserves the name of Friend • 

His is love beyond a brother's, 
Costly, free, and knows no end. 

Newton. 

A mother with three children was once re- 
turning home, at a late hour of the night, through 
one of those dark and lonely passes which abound 
in the Alps mountains. 

The night was so very cold that she drew two 
of her children close to her side, and clasped the 
youngest to her breast, in order to keep them 
from freezing. 

They thus journeyed on, drawn rapidly over 
the smoothly beaten road by their faithful horse, 
dreaming only of the warm fire and affectionate 
welcome which awaited them at their mountain 
home, little thinking of the danger which lurked 
so short a distance behind them. 

Presently she heard in the far-off distance the 
faint howl of a wolf. 

In a few seconds that of another, and another, 
fell upon her ear. 

8 [85] 



86 THE SAVIOUR. 

The sound grew louder and louder, and the 
number seemed to increase every moment. 

The thought at once flashed across her mind, 
that a pack of half-starved wolves was in hot 
pursuit of herself and darling little ones. 

The noble horse knew too well the danger that 
awaited himself and his precious burden, and 
with renewed speed hastened rapidly onward. 

But his strength was not sufficient to rescue his 
mistress and her little ones from the jaws of 
twenty hungry wolves ; for their fearful yell 
rang lduder and louder on the midnight air, till, 
on looking behind her, the affrighted mother be- 
held them within a hundred yards of the precious 
laden sleigh. 

Their blood-shot eyes glared fiercely, and their 
tongues hung far out of their mouths. 

There was no escape — destruction was certain. 
Yes, there was one means of escape, and only 
one ; that was, to throw one of her children to 
the wolves, and while they were satisfying their 
hunger on its body, she and the other two might 
safely reach their home. Awful thought! She 
looked into their cherub laces, kissed by the soft 
rays of tie* silver moon, with that tenderness 
which a mother only can feel, and her loving 
heart shrank back with horror from such a fiend- 
ish deed. 



THE SAVIOUR. 87 

Not a moment was to be lost. The yelling 
wolves were within a few steps of the sleigh — 
she felt their heated breath warming her cheek. 
One minute more, and herself and children would 
be devoured by the bloodthirsty beasts. Love 
for her children prevails, she throws herself a 
sacrifice to the hungry pack, and soon breathes 
Tier last, surrounded by the growls of devouring 
wolves, and the mournful dirge of the mountain 
winds. 

Children, was not that loving mother the 
Saviour of her tender offspring ? 

And now I ask you, — Will you, can you, reject 
that dear Saviour who suffered, and bled, and 
died on Calvary, to save you from a never ending 
destruction ? 

" Oh ! that all might believe, 
And salvation receive, 
And their song and their joy he the same." 



THE STRAYED LAMB. 
Matt, xviii. 12, 13. 

"A giddy lamb, one afternoon, 

Had from the fold departed; 
The tender shepherd missed it soon, 

And sought it, broken-hearted ; 
Not all the flock, that shared his love, 

Could from the search delay him: 
Nor clouds of midnight darkness move, 

Nor fear of suffering stay him. 

"But, night and day, he went his way 

In sorrow, till he found it ; 
And when he saw it fainting lie, 

He clasp'd his arms around it ; 
And, closely shelter'd in his breast, 

From every ill to save it, 
He brought it to his home of rest, 

And pitied, and forgave it. 

"And so the Saviour will receive 

The little ones that fear Him ; 
Their pains remove, their sins forgive, 

And draw them gently near Him; 
Bless, while they live -and when they d 

When soul and body sever, 
Conduct them to His homo on high, 

To dwell with Him forever." 

(88) 



AUTUMN. 

See the leaves around us falling, 

Dry and wither'd to the ground ; 
Thus to thoughtless mortals calling, 

In a sad and solemn sound. 

On the tree of life eternal 

let all our hopes be laid ; 
This alone, for ever vernal, 

Bears a leaf that shall not fade. 

Horne. 

To me, no season of the year brings with it so 
many solemn and instructive reflections as Au- 
tumn. When I look around me and see every- 
thing looking so barren and desolate, I cannot help 
feeling sad. The fields which a few months since 
looked so gay and beautiful, with their flower- 
dressed meadows and waving grain, are now 
parched and dead. The busy scythe of the reaper 
has laid many a proud stalk level with the 
ground, and the frugal husbandman has gathered 
his abundant harvest into his garner, or left it 
carefully stacked in the field to breast the storms 
of the approaching Winter. The variegated 
blossoms of the apple-tree have matured, ripened, 
8* . (89) 



90 AUTUMN. 

and fallen to the ground. The garden which, a 
short time since, sent forth such delightful fra- 
grance, now lies barren and bare. The leaves 
have fallen one by one from the sturdy oak, and 
left it in its lonely barrenness to battle with the 
piercing winds and howling tempests of the win- 
ter king. I have sat by my window and seen 
the green leaf of Summer first fade into a pale 
amber color, grow darker and darker by degrees, 
till it finally turned to a beautiful russet, and 
then flutter to the ground. When I first noticed 
the tree, it was covered with a heavy foliage. In 
a few days it became thinner and thinner ; in a 
few more days a few leaves lingered on its top- 
most boughs, and at last they, too, fell to the 
ground, and left it perfectly solitary. 

Children, can you look upon such scenes as 
these, and not feel that they were intended by 
God to teach you many important truths ? Does 
not the barren field remind you of that soul from 
which the light of God's countenance has been 
withdrawn ? The gathered harvest of that 
great harvest of mankind which shall take place 
at the judgment day ? Does not the oak teach 
you, if you wish to encounter the trials and tem- 
pests of the world, that you must lay aside every- 
thing, however small it may seem, which will en- 



AUTUMN. 91 

able those trying tempests better to uproot your 
faith and cast you headlong into destruction? 
May you, like it, the more violent the storm, the 
deeper penetrate the roots of your trust into the 
soil Christ Jesus. 

" The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose, 
I will notr—ImiU not desert to his foes ; 
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake, 
Pit never — no, never — no, never forsake." 

When we look upon the fading leaf and the 
"withering flower, may we feel that " We all do 
fade as a leaf/' and that " All flesh is grass, and 
the goodness thereof is as the flower of the field : 
the grass withereth, the flower fadeth : but the 
word of our God shall stand for ever." How 
frequently do we see it the case, that those whom 
we consider friends, when the sun of prosperity 
shines brightly upon us, cannot be drawn away ; 
but, like the leaves of the forest, as soon as the 
pinching frosts of adversity begin to wither our 
hopes and blast our cherished expectations, they 
can nowhere be found, but have left us to strug- 
gle against difficulties, when we most needed 
their advice and counsel. Let us not, then, put 
too much trust in an arm of flesh, but always 
rely upon God, who wi}l never desert us or leave 
us to the mercy of our enemies. As the leaf fall- 



92 AUTUMN'. 

eth to the ground, and moulders into dust, so 
does the body of man ; but his spirit returneth to 
God who gave it, and shall spend an eternity 
amid the joys of Heaven or the woes of Hell. 



THE VOICE OF AUTUMN. 

There comes, from yonder height, 

A soft repining sound, 
"Where forest leaves are bright, 
And fall like flakes of light 

To the ground. 

It is the autumn breeze, 

That, lightly floating on, 
Just skims the weedy leas, 
Just stirs the glowing trees, 
And is gone. 

He moans by sedgy brook, 

And visits, with a sigh', 
The last pale (lowers that look 
From out their sunny nook 
At the sky. 

O'er Bhouting children tiies 
That light October wind ; 
And, kissing cheeks and eyes, 
He leaves their merry eries 
Far behind, 



AUTUMN. 93 

And wanders on to make 
That soft uneasy sound 
By distant wood and lake, 
"Where distant fountains break 

From the ground. 

No bower where maidens dwell 

Can win a moment's stay ; 
Nor fair untrodden dell ; 
He sweeps the upland swelL 
And away ! 

Mourn'st thou thy homeless state, 

soft, repining wind ! 
That early seek'st, and late, 
The rest it is thy fate 

Not to find? 

Not on the mountain's breast, 

Not on the ocean's shore, 
In all the East and West ; 
The wind that stops to rest 
Is no more. 

By valleys, woods, and springs, 

No wonder thou shouldst grieve 
For all the glorious things 
Thou touehest with thy wings 
And must leave. 

W. C. Bryant. 



NERO ; OR, CRUELTY TO ANIMALS. 

I would not enter on my list of friends 

(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, 

Yet wanting sensibility,) the man 

Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 

Cowper's Task. 

About fifty years after the birth of Christ 
there lived a Roman Emperor whose name wa- 
Nero. He was one of the most cruel and un- 
merciful men whose lives are recorded in history. 
He put to death many of the noblest citizens of 
Rome upon the very slightest and most unfounded 
charges. The most bloody and brutal act of his 
life was the persecution of the Christians in and 
about the city of Rome. He set fire to the city 
in order that he might enjoy the pleasure of see- 
ing a conflagration similar to that of a great 
city which had been destroyed many years before. 
To silence the report of his having set fire to the 
city, the base Nero laid the guilt of it upon the 
new sect of Christians, whose numbers were 
rapidly increasing in every part of the empire. 
The death of these poor harmless Christians 
was aggravated with sport; "for they were 

(94) 



CRUELTY TO ANIMALS. 95 

either covered with the skins of wild beasts, and 
torn to pieces by devouring* dogs, or fastened to 
crosses, or wrapped up in combustible garments, 
that when the daylight failed they might serve, 
like torches, to illuminate the darkness of the 
night." 

He not only inflicted upon them every manner 
of torture and suffering which his wicked and 
depraved mind could invent, but he also took a 
great delight in seeing the poor innocent crea- 
tures suffer. Sometimes he drove a chariot 
among the sufferers, and at others he stood 
among them as a spectator of scenes which would 
make the coldest heart melt with sympathy, and 
the eye of the most unfeeling shed tears of sorrow. 

Such was the character of one of the most 
cruel and merciless wretches that ever lived. 
And to what thing do you suppose, dear reader, 
his cruelty may be attributed ? To the great 
delight which he took, when a child, in inflicting 
pain on the harmless and inoffensive little insect. 
It was his delight to extract from it cries of sor- 
row, and to tread upon the worm in order that 
he might witness its painful wri things. As he 
was in childhood, so was he when he became a 
man. As in childhood he caught the fly and 
pierced its body through with pointed instru- 



96 CRUELTY TO ANIMALS. 

ments, so in manhood did lie cause his fellow- 
man to suffer every pain which his corrupt heart 
could wish, or his sinful mind invent. 

Whenever I see a little boy or a little girl 
catching flies and pulling their legs and wings 
off, or piercing their bodies, I always think 
there will be a second Nero, if that disposition 
is not changed by God, or a check put upon it 
by some kind friend. 

Children, be kind to every thing around you, 
particularly the dumb brute. Do not throw 
stones at the harmless little sparrow, or the 
pretty little snow-bird. Life is as precious to 
them as it is to you. Doubtless they have feel- 
ings of love and tenderness for each other, and 
why do you wish to destroy their happim - 
Even if they had ever wronged you, it would be 
your duty to return good for evil ; and how much 
more is it your duty not to injure them, since 
they have never harmed you in the least. It 
always pains me very much to see a little boy 
throwing stones at every cow, horse, or hog that 
passes along within striking distance of him. Oh 
how unkind ! How unlike Him who went about 
doing good ! 

I once saw a boy throw a stone at a beautiful 
young horse. He did it thoughtlessly, and did 



CRUELTY TO ANIMALS. 97 

not intend hurting the animal ; but the stone 
struck it in the eye and destroyed its sight for- 
ever. 

Dear reader, if you had seeu the agony and 
heard the screams of suffering which that one 
stone caused that harmless horse, I am sure you 
would never throw another stone at a bird or 
beast as long as you live. The boy, when he 
saw the pain which he had caused the innocent 
colt, went off and wept most bitterly ; and I am 
certain, learned a most instructive lesson. Chil- 
dren, 

"Let love through all your actions run, 
And all your deeds be kind. 11 

9 



98 CRUELTY TO ANIMALS. 



" Sweet it is to see a child 
Tender, merciful, and mild ; 
Ever ready to perform 
Acts of mercy to a worm ; 
Grieving that the world should be 
Thus a scene of misery ; 
Scene in which the creatures groan 
For transgressions not their own. 

" If the creatures must be slain 
Thankless sinners to sustain ; 
Such a child, methinks, will cry, 
4 Treat them gently when they die ; 
Spare them while they yield their breath ; 
Double not the pains of death ; 
Strike them not at such a time, 
God accounts the stroke a crime.' 

" God is love, and never can 
Love or bless a cruel man ; 
Mercy rules in every breast 
Where His Spirit deigns to rest ; 
"We ourselves to mercy owe 
Our escape from endless woe; 
And the merciless in mind 
Shall themselves no mercy find." 



CRUELTY TO ANIMALS. 99 



SPARE THE INSECT. 

" Oh, turn that little foot aside, 

Nor crush beneath its tread 
The smallest insect of the earth, 

That looks to God for bread. 

11 If He who made the universe 

Looks down in kindest love, 
To shape an humble thing like this, 

From His high throne above — 

" Why shouldst thou, then, in wantonness, 

That creature's life destroy ? 
Or give a pang to any thing 

That He has made for joy ? 

" My child, begin in little things 

To act the gentle part ; 
For God will turn His love away 

From every cruel heart." 



THE RAILROAD. 

" For we are sojourners, as were all our fathers." 

Bible. 

The cars were crowded. In one corner sat 
the grey-haired grandfather ; by his side, the 
gay, thoughtless maiden ; farther on, the youth- 
ful aspirant after the world's honors ; and at his 
elbow, the stern, thinking business man. intently 
engaged in reading the morning's Prices Current, 
thinking only of Profit and Loss, and the rise 
and fall of articles for which he trafficked, for- 
getting, not the almighty dollar, but his immortal 
soul. 

We started. On and on the fire-breathing iron 
horse drew us along : — now hurrying around the 
sweeping curves ; now ascending some Bteep 
acclivity ; now rattling through dark, dungeon- 
like tunnels ; anon speeding with almost light- 
ning rapidity over the smoothly laid track. 

None seemed to fear. All was happiness and 
joy. One was thinking of the joyful welcome 
that awaited him at his happy home ; another 

(100) 



THE RAILROAD. 101 

of the pleasure he expected to meet with from 
the friends of his childhood, from whom he had 
been separated many a long year ; others were 
perfectly indifferent — no trouble to cloud their 
brows, no care to harass their hearts — gazing, 
with countenances of delight, on the fair fields 
of nature which stretched out before them, the 
mirror-like lake, or the cloud-capped mountain 
that lifted its proud head far above the bustle 
and confusion of the world. 

None thought of danger. None thought that 
the next moment might find them a mass of 
bruised and mangled corpses, or struggling for 
life amid the waves of some roaring river. The 
engineer was at his post ; the conductor would 
see that no harm should befall them. 

My young friends, as I sat in that crowded 
car, many were the thoughts that rose in my 
mind. I thought this life was but a railroad ; 
we the passengers. Some of us are thoughtful 
and considerate ; many gay and inconsiderate. 
The railroad of life has many curves, to avoid 
the current of sin, or the pit of destruction ; 
many a high acclivity of difficulty ; many a dark, 
lonely tunnel of doubt and uncertainty ; many a 
deep cut of affliction," from which the light of 
God's countenance seems entirely withdrawn. 



102 THE RAILROAD. 

The route lies along the flower-dressed meadows 
of happiness, and through the dark, dismal mo- 
rasses of poverty and want. At one moment 
all is beauty, loveliness and grandeur ; at another, 
the clouds of God's wrath gather thick and 
heavy around us. Some of us are journeying to 
our heavenly home ; others, far from that home, 
in search of what the world calls enjoyment, 
but, like the apples of Sodom, bitterness and re- 
morse. 

My young friends, if Christ be our »eng 
and God our conductor, we need fear no evil. 
All will be well ; our journey safe and pleasant : 
and we shall safely reach a glorious home in 
Heaven, and there spend an eternity of blissful 
happiness in the company of the loved and lost 
who have traveled this road, and reached, with- 
out any collision or accident, its termination. 



THE RAILROAD. 103 



THE SPIRITUAL RAILWAY. 

" The line to heaven by Christ was made : 
With heavenly truths the rails are laid ; 
From earth to heaven the line extends ; 
To life eternal — there it ends. 

" Repentance is the station then, 
Where passengers are taken in ; 
No fees for them are there to pay, 
For Jesus is Himself the way. 

u The Bible is the engineer, 
It points the way to heaven so clear ; 
Through tunnels dark and dreary here, 
It does the way to glory steer. 

" God's love—the fire, His truth the steam 
Which drives the engine and the train ; 
All you who would to glory ride, 
Must come to Christ — in Him abide. 

11 In the first, second, and third class, 
Repentance, faith, and holiness, 
You must the way to glory gain, 
Or you with Christ can never reign. 

" Come, then, poor sinners, now's the time, 
At any place along the fine ; 
If you repent and turn from sin, 
The train will stop and take you in." 



A TRUE SKETCH. 

" Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions 
Not from the ground arise, 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 
Assume this dark disguise." 

Longfellow. 

A venerable minister of Christ left his home 
one bright, beautiful Sabbath morning, for the 
house of God. He was riding a restless, fiery 
mountain colt, but had no fears of his ability to 
manage him, as he had been raised from early 
childhood, as it were, on a horse's back, and 
feared the wildest animal as little as he did a 
playful kitten. 

He had gone but a short distance on his way, 
when the horse, becoming frightened, made a sud- 
den leap, and threw his rider headlong against 
the projecting points of a large rock tying Dear 
the roadside. The rock entered his skull, and 
in u Few moments that aged father in Israel 
breathed his last, with no kind friend near to 
whisper words of consolation in his dying ear, or 
wipe the sweat of death from his patriarchal 
brow. 

(104) 



A TRUE SKETCH. 105 

The anxious congregation waited long and im- 
patiently for the appearance of their much-loved 
pastor, but he came not. His spirit had winged 
its way to that bright, happy land, 

" Where congregations ne'er break up, 
And Sabbaths have no end." 

A portion of the congregation determined to 
find out the cause of his long, unusual delay, and 
accordingly set out along his accustomed road. 
After travelling several miles, what was their 
surprise and sorrow to find their grey-haired 
shepherd, who had so long and so cheerfully led 
them " beside the still waters, and through the 
green pastures," who had taken the lambs of the 
flock in his bosom^ and protected their tender 
little feet from the thorns which strew the path- 
way of childhood, lying stretched on the cold 
ground, a lifeless corpse. Many were the tears 
that moistened the noble brow of this man of 
God ; bitter were the throbbings of stricken 
hearts that stood around the body of him who, 
Sabbath after Sabbath, had broken to them the 
Bread of Life. 

There anxiously kneels at the side of her 
sainted father a little girl, whom they have failed 
to notice. What is she doing there ? Come, 



106 A TRUE SKETCH. 

gather closely around this scene, children, and 
look at one of your number. She heard the clat- 
tering of the horse's feet as he hurried wildly 
from the spot where lay his lifeless corpse ; she 
hastened quickly towards the church and reached 
her father only in time to hear the death-rattle 
in his throat, and see his brains all scattered 
over the ground. What does she do ? She 
gathers them up, places them once more in his 
skull, and with her little hands endeavors to hold 
the shattered fragments together. But it is too 
late now. Dear, loving little Mary can't recall 
the spirit of her departed parent back to earth ; 
and the sorrowing members of that shepherdless 
flock bear her away to a home, around whose 
bright fireside and at whose morning and eve- 
ning altar shall never again be heard the voice 
of one whom none knew but to love. 

My young friends, I have witnessed and heard 
of many touching scenes, but for child-like inno- 
cence, and tender, loving affection, this surpasses 
them all. 

1 now leave yon lo learn tin 4 many lessons of 
affection and love this hasty sketch teaches, and 
hope yon will not throw the book carelessly 
aside, and forget all about it; bill think if you 
love your parents as fatherless little Mary loved 
hers. 



THE SPIRIT OF THE DEPARTED. 

I KNOW thou art gone to thy home of rest ; 

Then why should my soul be sad ? 
I know thou art gone where the weary are blest> 

And the mourner looks up and is glad ; 

"Where Love has put off, in the land of its birth, 

The stain it had gathered in this, 
And Hope, the sweet singer that gladdened the earth. 

Lies asleep on the bosom of bliss. 

Hervet. 

(10T) 



"THE LAST NIGHT OF THE SEASON." 

" HA9T&V, sinner, to return, 

AndBtay not for to morrow's sun, 

For fear thy lamp should cease to burn 

Before the needful work is done." 

11 The Last Night of the Season," stood forth 
in bold prominence from mammoth posters at ev 
ery prominent place in the city. 

" The Last Night of the Season," headed an ad- 
vertisement in every daily paper. 

"The Last Night of the Season," was echoed 
by thousands of handbills. 

11 The Last Night of the Season," lingered on - 
the lips of nearly every passer-by. 

At night, thronging crowds, with hurried step 
and anxious heart, pressed earnestly into the ac- 
customed entrance then too narrow to admit 
the greatly increased numbers— of a large and 
brilliantly illumined building. 

1),, you know, breathed in quick succession 
from one to another, it is "The Last Night of the 
Season ?" 

[108] 



"the last night of the season." 109 

Fellow traveller to the bar of God, " I have 
somewhat to say unto thee." 

Has not this sentence already gone, like an 
arrow, to your heart ? Do you not feel that 
perhaps you have seen the last night of the season 
of salvation ? 

Oh ! it is an awful thought. Yet, thanks be 
to God, there is still another opportunity of being 
saved. I now present you that opportunity. 
Will you, can you, refuse ? It may be the last 
night of the season. God only knows. 

" Delay not, delay not, sinner, to come, 

For mercy still lingers and calls thee to-day, 

Her voice is not heard in the vale of the tomb ; 

Her message unheeded will soon pass away." 

Fathers, mothers, friends, relatives, brothers, 
sisters, those that love you tenderly, dearly,. 
Christian ministers, the writer of this little arti- 
cle, all join in the earnest entreaty, " Come to 
Jesus I" 

He is a precious Saviour. 

He is a loving Saviour. 

He is a willing Saviour. 

He is an able Saviour. 

Then, will you not come and cast your burden 
upon Him f 

He has never turned away one soul. 
10 



110 "THE LAST NIGHT OF THE SEASON." 

The thief on the cross,— poor, weeping Peter 
—Mary Magdalene, with her seven devils,— all 
found Him such a Saviour as I have described. 

Young man, in the morning of life, you whose 
brow no cloud of sorrow has ever darkened, will 
you not come to that Saviour ? 

Young lady, will you not come to that 
Saviour ? Will you, whose sex was the last at 
the cross, the first at the sepulchre, stay away 
from that Saviour ? The daughters of Jerusalem 
found Him an all-sufficient Saviour, and will you 
not come, like Mary, and 



-fall at His feet, 



And the story repeat, 

And the lover of sinners adore?" 



MART AT JESUS' FEET. 

To hear the Saviour's word 

The gentle Mary came ; 
Low at His feet she sat and heard . 

Sweet mention of her name. 

She chose the better part, 

The one bright pearl she found : 

May we, with Mary's constant heart, 
In Mary's grace abound. 

Like her, we look above, 
To learn our Saviour's will ; 

The droppings of His lips we love, 
And would His word fulfil. 

Speak, as to Mary Thou 

Didst speak in Galilee ; 
Call us by name, our hearts shall bow, 
And melting, flow to Thee. 

E. M. C. 

[Ill] 



HUGH MILLER AXD THE PRECIPICE. 

" Hkave.v above ami heO below, 
Pleasure, pain, and joy and woo, 
Repeat the words in accents slow, 
Stop and tfiinl- .'" 

The celebrated Hugh Miller, when a boy. was 
in the habit of scaling giddy precipices, either in 
search of some peculiar specimen of rock, or some 
unknown species of bird. 

On one occasion lie saw a raven's nest far above 
the ground, snugly fixed on a very high cliff, 
which had never been scaled by the foot of man. 
From below it was a matter of impossibility to 
reach it, for it was more than a hundred feet 
above the level of the sea. 1I<' therefore deter- 
mined to make an attempt from above. Creep- 
ing carefully along, now holding by Borne pro- 
truding rock, now clinging to Borne Blender 
shrub, he at last found himself within six or eight 
feel of the desired prize. There he Btopped and 
ted. Beneath, the raging surf foamed and 
boiled. One misstep would launch him into 

eternity. 

Hi.-' foot was stretched out to take the first step, 

[112] 



HUGH MILLER AND THE PRECIPICE. 113 

when he observed, as the sun burst suddenly from 
behind a cloud, the light glisten on a smooth 
surface of chlorite, slippery as glass. He at once 
saw the consequences of such an attempt, retraced 
his steps, and was, in God's providence, spared 
to exert an influence for good, the extent of 
which will never be fully known. 

Reader, have you ever attempted to perform 
some act which no one else was able to accom- 
plish , and been on the very brink of destruction, 
when the Sun of Righteousness shone on your 
pathway and revealed to your darkened under- 
standing the imminent danger of your position ? 

Young man, you that are anxious to write 
your name high above that of your fellow-man, 
beware how you step. The ocean of a never- 
ending eternity is roaring beneath you. You, 
perhaps, do not see your danger, yet it is there. 
If you are seeking only the riches of this world, 
which perish with their using, and endeavoring 
to do what no one else has done, pray that God 
will show you the peril of your position, retrace 
your steps, and remember the sad end of him 
" who layeth up treasure for himself and is not 
rich toward God." Luke 12: 21. 

The sequel to this little sketch is very, very- 
heart-rending. 
10* 



114 HUGH MILLER AND TB 

Not long after the above occurrence a youth 
named Mackay made a similar attempt: | 
even for a longer time; then trusting himself to 
the treacherous chlorite, his foot slipped, and lie 
fell headlong over the precipice, flia head 
striking violently against a projecting rock, his 
brains were scattered over a space of ten or 
twelve square yards in extent. 

The rock doubtless yet remains — a lasting 
monument of the sinful folly of man. 



A FEW SHORT TEAES— AND THEN.- 

" A few short years — and then 
Our young hearts may be reft 

Of every hope, and find no gleam 
Of childhood's sunshine left ! 

" A few short years — and then, 

Impatient of its bliss, 
The weary soul shall seek on high 

A better home than this ! 

A few short years — and then 
The dream of life will be 
lake shadows of a morning cloud, 
In its reality I 

" A few short years — and then 

The idols loved the best 
"Will pass in all their pride away, 

As sinks the sun to rest I" 

[115] 



THE HOME OF ST. PAUL. 

I xkvkr left the place that knew me, 

And may never know me more, 
Where the cords of kindness drew me, 

And gladdened me of yore, — 
But my secret soul has smarted, 

With a feeling full of gloom, 
For the days that are departed, 

And the place I called my homo. 



Who is there that can stand beside the simple 
stone which marks the birthplace of Geobgi 
Washington, or enter that plain cottage in the 

Blashesof Hanover, or walk the halls of Monticel- 
lo, and not feel arising in his bosom feelings 
of pleasure and delight? Such feelings are 

natural ; and I hope, dear reader, you will 
ever cherish them for the memory of such men 

as Washington, Jefferson, (day. and the host 

of others who have done so much for our com- 
mon country. If we love to visit the birthplace! 
and homes of men who have preferred death to 
bondage, how much greater must be the love 
with which we look upon the home of him who 
[116] 



THE HOME OF ST. PAUL. 117 

suffered and bled and died for the liberty of the 
soul from the powerful bondage of sin and Sa- 
tan — the home of Saul of Tarsus, the scholar of 
Gamaliel. 

That Tarsus was the birthplace of Saul is not 
very certain, as no one informs us of the fact ; 
but one thing is certain, it was there he spent the 
hours of his childhood, there he was taught to 
reverence God's Word, and there his tender mind 
received those impressions of ' love to God and 
his fellow-man, which followed him throughout 
his interesting and eventful life. 

Tarsus, at the time of Saul's residence, was 
one of the largest cities in Asia Minor. It was 
beautifully situated on the river Cydnus, in the 
midst of a most fertile and picturesque valley, 
and was the capital of Cilicia. On the one side 
a lofty peak of the Taurus mountains lifted its 
hoary head, and stood like a sentinel, to watch 
over and protect the city which lay in such calm 
quietude at its base ; on the other lay the lovely 
valley of the Cydnus, interspersed with beautiful 
groves of palm trees and luxuriant gardens, 
through the midst of which the silver stream 
wound its way till it was lost in the Mediterra- 
nean sea. Over this plain, happy cottages were 
scattered like stars in the blue canopy of heaven. 



118 THE HOME OF ST. PAUL. 

Above the city, about a mile distant, were the 
falls of the Cydnus, whose sullen roar added no 
little to the grandeur of the Bcenery, Such was 
the nature of the country in which the youthful 
Saul spent the days of his childhood and youth. 
Tarsus, as Saul himself = 3 " no mean 

city." It was no less remarkable for the beauty 
of its situation, than as a seat of learning and 
wide-spread commerce. 

There is something about the word Home, 
which in itself is pleasant. How delightful is it 
to him upon whose locks have fallen the snows 
of many winters, and whose brow has been fur- 
rowed by the hand of time, to look bark to the 
home and friends of his childhood ! Every thing 
about the old homestead is interesting to him. 
Here, surrounded by kind friends and dear rela- 
tives, he spent the happiest hours of his life. Ev- 
ery spot has some attraction. In one he once 
was rescued from danger ; in another he used to 
indulge in those sportive games which afford so 
much pleasure to the young beginner of life's 
journey ; beside some murmuring stream he often 
strayed, and stole the nimble trout from it- 
tal home, or rested his weary Limbs beneath the 
wide-extending branches of the aged oak which 
overhung the gushing spring. 



THE HOME OF ST. PAUL. 119 

Such, doubtless, were the feelings with which 
the great " Apostle of the Gentiles," when his 
mind was " burdened with the care of all the 
churches/' visited his native city. And now how 
changed ! An English writer thus describes the 
present condition of that once prosperous city : 
" It is now a Turkish town, greatly decayed, but 
still of some relative importance, and carrying 
on a somewhat active commerce. The popula- 
tion is about 6,000." — However the works of 
man may have decayed in and around Tarsus, 
yet the works of God remain almost unaltered . 
— " The rich harvests of corn still grow luxuri- 
antly after the rains in spring ; the same tents 
of goats' hair are still seen covering the plain in 
busy harvest. The same sunset lingers on the 
pointed summits. The same shadows gather in 
the deep ravines. The water-falls of the Cydnus 
still break over the same rocks." 

Who would not like to visit a city once hal- 
lowed by the presence of one of the greatest and 
best of men ? 



THE WANDERER'S RETURN. 

I left my home in childhood, 

The beautiful green spot, 
"Where I used to sport among the leaves, 

Around my native cot. 

My heart was full of happiness 

Among the woods and hills, 
And I heard the voice of hope and love 

Sing gayly in the rills. 

Each lawn and sunny meadow, 
Each tree and flower was dear — 

And I left them full of sadness, 
With childhood's flowing tear. 

And after years of roaming 

I sought again the scene — 
I stood within the cottage door, 

And looked upon the green ; — 

But my heart within me died away — 

For time had trod the lawn, 
And change had passed o'er held and cot, 

And those I loved were gone! 

Tho earth was full of beauty, 

There was balm upon the air, 
J 'ait the feelings of my childhood 
I found no longer there. 

C. W. Thompson. 
[120J 



HOME. 

I am not one of those who -wander 

Unaffection'd here and there, 
But my heart must still be fonder 

Of its sites of joy or care ; 
And I point sad memory's finger 

(Tho' my faithless foot may roam) 
Where I've most been made to linger, — 

To the place I called my home. 

Tufpes. 

Though many a long year has passed away 
since I mingled in the pleasant enjoyments and 
childish sports of my native home, yet I look 
back with feelings of the deepest sorrow, and 
sincerely wish that I could again spend those 
hours which afforded me so much innocent delight. 
It is true, that I had a home only for a very few 
years, for I had scarcely learned to love my moth- 
er and feel the worth of my father, before the 
clods of the valley rumbled over their coffins ; 
yet those years were the happiest of my life. 

It is in the family circle that we are taught so 
many lessons of kindness to our fellow-men, and 
it is there we are fitted* to enter upon the stern 

[121] 



122 HOME. 

realities which await us in the busy world. There, 
and there alone, are the seeds of truth and moral- 
ity sown by the affectionate hand of an attached 
mother ; and a loving sister entwines her affec- 
tions around the heart of a thoughtless brother, 
and frequently keeps him from houses " which are 
the way to hell," and from a drunkard's grave. 

Blot out of existence the thousands of Chris- 
tian homes in this land of ours, and you will 
destroy the very corner stone of this happy and 
prosperous country. 

It was around the fireside that such men as 
Patrick Henry, Henry Clay and Daniel Web- 
ster first learned those lessons of wisdom and 
unwavering devotion to their country. 

Well has it been remarked, " There is no place 
like home." 

I had rather part with my right hand or my 
right eye, than to be deprived of those simple 
truths taught me by my sainted mother when I 
was Bcarcely old enough to lisp her name. Bow 
indelibly are they impressed upon my mind ! And 
simple prayers which she taught me — shall 

1 ever forget them? No, never. They will go 
with me to my grave. And when 1 was sick, 
how she watched over me, nursed me, and prayed 
for my recovery ! 






HOME. 123 

My home ! How thoughts of the loved and 
lost arise in my mind at the mere mention of the 
name ! That dear father, that more than sainted 
mother, where are they ? Gone, gone forever ! 

It is customary with many heathen nations, 
when any one of their number is thought to be 
dying, to place him upon a narrow couch, set by 
his side a small portion of bread and water, and 
permit him to draw his last breath with no friend 
near to whisper words of consolation in his dy- 
ing ear, or shed a tear of regret at his departure. 

How different in the Christian family ! Noth- 
ing can equal the tender care and soothing at- 
tention paid to him whose sand is well nigh run 
out. And when he is gone, how fast do tears of 
bitterness flow from the eyes of those who loved 
and watched over him even in the hour of death ! 

William Jay, in speaking of domestic happi- 
ness, uses the following beautiful and touching 
language : "Oh! what so refreshing, so soothing, 
so satisfying, as the quiet joys of home ? Yon- 
der comes the laborer ; — he has borne the burden 
and the heat of the day ; the descending sun has 
released him from his toil , and he is hastening home 
to enjoy his repose. Half way down the lane, 
by the side of which -stands his cottage, his chil- 
dren run to meet him. One he carries and one 



124 HOME. 

he leads. See his toil-worn countenance assume 
an air of cheerfulness. His hardships are for- 
gotten — fatigue vanishes — he eats and is satis- 
fied. Inhabitant of the lowly dwelling I who 
can be indifferent to thy comfort ? Peace to thy 
house !" 

But, children, that pleasant home cannot al- 
ways be the abode of happiness. 

Since sin entered into this world of ours, and 
death by sin, man can never be perfectly happy. 

Sooner or later some member of that family 
will be locked in the cold embrace of Death ; 
and sadness will follow in the footsteps of joy. 
There will be a vacant chair, and a deserted 
hearth-stone, ere many more days shall have pass- 
ed away. That dwelling in which pleasure and 
happiness now reign, shall soon echo with the 
sobs and lamentations of those who have parted 
with perhaps a father, a mother, a fond sister, or 
a loving brother. He who to-day resides in 
the costliest mansion, may to-morrow be an inhab- 
itant of a hovel. That father who to-day bowed 
before the family altar, and asked a Heavenly 
Father '8 blessing upon his children, may be wrap- 
ped in the winding sheet of Death to-morrow. 

How important then is it. that we should look 
forward to a home in that house not made with 



HOME. 125 

hands, whose builder and maker is God. There 
father and mother, husband and wife, brother and 
sister, shall meet to part no more. There shall 
be no night there. Pain and anguish, sick- 
ness and sorrow, affliction and disappointment, 
shall be feared and felt no more for ever. How 
happy the scene ! How joyful the meeting of 
friends and relations ! How delightful will it 
be to meet with that father and that mother who 
have gone before, and feel that we shall never 
be separated again ! 

Children, if you wish to meet your departed 
relations, who have died trusting in Christ, in 
Heaven, beware how you trifle away your inch 
of time. If you die in your sins, you can never 
be with them in that " happy land f for to a sin- 
ner Heaven would be the worst Hell into which 
he could be placed. Then, ".Seek the Lord while 
he is near, and call upon Him while He may be 
found." 



MY OLD DEAR HOME. 

" Between broad fields of wheat and corn 
Is the lovely home where I was born ; 
The peach-tree leans against the wall, 
And the woodbine wanders over all ; 
There is the shaded doorway still : 
But a stranger's foot hath crossed the sill ! 

11 There is the barn— and aa of yore 

I can smell the hay from the open door 

And see the busy swallows throng, 

And hear the pee-wit's mournful song: 

But the stranger comes— Oh, painful proof — 

His sheaves are piled to the heated roof ! 

" There is the orchard — the very trees 
Where my childhood knew long hours of ease, 
And watched the shadowy momenta run, 
Till my lift imbibed more shade than sun; 
Tin- Bwing from the bough still sweeps the air, 
But the stranger's children are swinging there ! 

"There bubbles the shady spring below, 

"With its bulrush brook where the hazels grow; 

Twas there l found the calamus root, 
And watched the minnows poise and shoot, 

[uq 



MY OLD DEAR HOME. 127 

And heard the robin lave his wing : 

But the stranger's bucket is at the spring ! 

11 Oh ! ye that daily cross the sill ; 

Step lightly, for I love it still ; 

And when you crowd the old barn eaves, 

Then think what countless harvest sheaves 

Have passed within that scented door, 

To gladden the eyes that are no more. 

" Deal kindly with those orchard trees, 
And when your children crowd your knees, 
Their sweetest fruit they shall impart, 
As if old memories stirred their heart : — 
To youthful sport still leave the swing, 
And in sweet reverence hold the spring. 

" The barn, the trees, the brook, the birds, 
The meadows, with their lowing herds, 
The woodbine on the cottage wall, — 
My heart still lingers with them all : — 
Ye strangers on my native sill, 
Step lightly, for I love it still." 



TO MY SABBATH-SCHOOL CLASS. 

Lewisburg, Va., July' 31st, 1858. 

My Dear Sabbath-School Class : — I have 
been intending to write you a short letter ever 
since leaving home, but have been so constantly 
engaged that I have not found an opportunity. 

A great deal of interest has transpired since 
the commencement of my mountain trip, of which 
I should like to tell you, but must defer doing so 
until we meet, which, if God spares our lives, 
will be in a few weeks. I know you would like 
very much to leave the hot and dusty streets of 
Richmond, and come out and enjoy the pure 
mountain air and health-giving water. My own 
health has improved very much, and I do most 
earnestly pray that it and my life may be pre- 
cious in the sight of God, and I may yet ere long 
enjoy the greatest of earthly privileges — preach- 
in- the mystery of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. 
I have very often thought of and frequently re- 
membered you at a throne of grace. Oh ! you 
know not how much pleasure it would afford me 
to see you all professors of religion. You know 

L128J 



TO MY SABBATH-SCHOOL CLASS. 129 

I told you before leaving, if any of you snould 
"perish — I feel sad to think of such a thing — I 
hoped it would not be my fault, for I had en- 
deavored, feebly and imperfectly though it was, 
to lead your youthful feet in the ways of right- 
eousness — the paths of peace. 

I feel constrained to urge you once more to 
come to Jesus. We may never meet again on 
earth, and I do so sincerely desire to meet my 
Sabbath-school class in heaven. Suppose one of 
you should be missing, which will it be ? May 
each one of you ask himself the question, " Lord, 
is it I? 

And then, my dear young friends, we want 
ministers so badly. Where shall we get them ? 
Do I not hear at least one of you say, " Here am 
1; Lord, send me?" Think of that shepherdless 
and sorrowing flock, that vacant pulpit, that 
newly made grave, in Amelia county ! think how 
fearlessly and faithfully the lamented S. Hamner 
Davis stood up for Jesus, and how triumphantly 
he died ! My dear scholars, will not some of you, 
would it be too much to say all of you, dedicate 
yourselves to the work of the blessed ministry ? 
I know it has not a great many earthly attrac- 
tions, but there. is something cheering in the 
thought of living for the benefit of your fellow- 



130 TO MY SABBATH-SCHOOL CLASS. 

men. I had rather be the humble instrument, in 
the hands of God. of saving one soul, than be 
worth all the riches or obtain all the honors 
which the world can furnish. 

May the Lord abundantly bless and preserve 
you all, while we are absent from each other, is 
the prayer of 

Your affectionate Teacher, 

PHILIP BARRETT. 



HALF AN HOUR IN BAD COMPANY. 

" Separate from sinners and unspotted from the world."— Bibie. 

A youth was once unintentionally thrown into 
the company of some half dozen young men of 
very immoral character. Their language, their 
jests, were of the lowest order. Indecent ex- 
pressions, vulgar anecdotes, heart-defiling oaths, 
characterized their conversation. It was evident 
their was no thought of God in all their hearts. 

He left them and went to his room. It was 
time for retiring to rest. He opened his Bible 
and attempted to read its sacred pages ; but he 
could not confine his thoughts. The low, vulgar 
anecdotes of that godless party were continually 
flitting across his- mind. Their hollow mockery 
of God still rung in his ear ; the thought that 
perhaps there . was no God, no heaven, no hell, 
disturbed his hitherto pleasant evening medita- 
tions ; but that kind, friendly voice within, the 
lives and death-beds of parents whom he had 
loved only to lose, told him too plainly there 
was a God above, of tender and forgiving mercy 

[131] 



132 HALF AN HOUR IN BAD COMPANY. 

there was a heaven of bliss and joy, there was a 
lake whose waves of fire and brimstone were 
never quiet. He knelt down to pray, and the 
profane jests of that God-rejecting company in- 
truded themselves upon his thoughts ; he retired 
to rest — they haunted his slumbers ; he awoke in 
the morning— they still lingered in his mind- 
Year after year has passed away, but that half 
an hour in the company of the profane, the 
wicked, still exerts its injurious influence upon 
the heart of that young man. It will never leave 
him. Wherever he goes, whatever he does, it 
will remain in his mind to the last day of his 
life. It may be forgotten for a time, but, like the 
serpent concealed in a bed of violets, it will 
again and again come up to pollute his best and 
purest thoughts, to poison his sweetest affections. 
My dear young friends, particularly boys, 
write this as your motto upon the fly-leaves of 
your books— write it on the walls of your rooms 
— write it in your copy books — write it on your 
hearts — Keep out of bad company. 



THE BIBLE A GUIDE TO THE YOUNG. 

How shall the young secure their hearts 
And guard their lives from sin ? 

Thy word the choicest rules imparts 
To keep the conscience clean. 

When once it enters to the mind, 

It spreads such light abroad, 
The meanest souls instruction find, 

And raise their thoughts to God. 

'Tis like the sun, a heavenly light, 

That guides us all the day, 
And through the dangers of the night 

A lamp to lead our way. 

Thy word is everlasting truth ; 
How pure is ev'ry page ! 

"Watts. 

12 [133] 



THE FIRST DAY OF THE NEW YEAR. 

'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours, 

And ask thorn what report they bore to heaven, 

Aucl how they might have borne more welcome news. 

Yooc 

Another year, with its fond anticipations and 
blasted hopes, its scenes of joy and its seasons of 
sorrow, its days of rejoicing and its nights of 
weeping, has been laid in the grave of the past. 

Many a bounding heart that welcomed us a 
year ago, now lies beneath the clods of the valley ; 
many a cloudless brow which then met our eye, 
now meets it no more for ever ; many a manly 
form which then walked the streets of our city, 
now walks the golden streets of the Xew Jerusa- - 
lem. The young man, before whom the future 
stretched* in scenes of brightness and beauty; 
the young lady, whose glowing cheek and bril- 
liant eye bespoke a long life of joy and happi- 
aess ; tin 1 father, whose presence cheered and 
whosecounsel guided 1ms little flock ; the mother, 
whose yearning liearl seemed to throb only for 
the dear little one whose cherub arms clung so 
lovingly around her neck ; the young minister, 

[131] 



THE FIRST DAY OF THE NEW YEAH. 135 

whose hopes of wide-spread usefulness gladdened 
his lonely hours of toil ; the venerable man of 
God, whose golden virtues, mingled with his 
silver locks, won the love and admiration of all 
who knew him ; — these, all of these, have been 
laid in the cold and silent grave, during the year 
that is past and gone. 

Over some of their graves the green grass is 
not yet growing, and stricken hearts are now 
bleeding for loved ones, with whom we had ex- 
pected to walk hand in hand during the year 
which has so beautifully dawned upon us. 

During the past year we have permitted many 
a golden opportunity for doing good to pass 
away unimproved ; we have failed properly to 
use many a precious privilege ; and does it not 
then become us, to-day, to implore forgiveness 
for the past, and unreservedly to dedicate our- 
selves and all we have and are, to the service of 
our blessed Redeemer ? 

Let us determine that this year shall be a 
year of entire consecration to God's service ; 
that our places at the Sabbath-school, in the 
house of God, at the Wednesday evening lecture, 
at the prayer-meeting, shall be less frequently 
vacant than they were during the past year. 

That this shall be a year of prayer — earnest, 



136 THE FIRST DAY OF THE NEW YEAR. 

importunate prayer. That we will especially 
pray for those who are bound to us by ties of 
affection and love, but who know nothing of 
the warm affection and tender love of a Saviour's 
heart. 

That it shall be a year of heart-searching. 

" Search me, God, and know my heart ; try 
me, and know my thoughts : and see if there be 
any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way 
everlasting." 

That it shall be a year of unremitting prayer 
for the outpouring of God's spirit, not only upon 
the church with which we are connected, but 
throughout the length and breadth of His vine- 
yard. 

And, in conclusion, that we will endeavor so 
to live and act, that whenever the summons conies 
to call us hence, our lights shall be burning, our 
lamps trimmed, and we shall hear the welcome 
invitation, " Come, ye blessed of my Father, in- 
herit the kingdom prepared for you from the 
foundation of the world." 



THE SWIFTNESS OF TIME. 

" Swift as the winged arrow flies, 

My time is hast'ning on ; 
Quick as the lightning from the skies 

My wasting moments run. 

" My follies past, G-od, forgive ; 

My ev'ry sm subdue ; 
And teach me henceforth how to live, 

With glory full in view. 

"Thanks, Lord, to Thine unbounded grace, 

That in my early youth 
I have been taught to seek Thy face, 

And know the way of truth. 

" Oh ! let Thy Spirit lead me still 

Along the happy road ; 
Conform me to Thy holy will, 

My Father and my God." 
12* [137] 



THE YOUNG MAN WHO WENT TO 
SLEEP IN CHURCH. 

" When to the house of God we go 
To hear His word and sing His love, 
We ought to worship Him below 
As saints and angels do above." 

There is but one instance mentioned in the 
Bible in which a person went to sleep during re- 
ligious service. It was at night. Paul, the elo- 
quent preacher, witli his usual burning zeal and 
strong enthusiasm, had enchained the attention 
of his audience till a late hour — 12 o'clock. On 
the morning he was to leave them. His hearers 
were hanging witli deep sorrow on his parting 
words, for they felt " they should see his face 
no more." There was, doubtless, many a quiver- 
ering lip, many a tearful eye, many a throbbing 
heart. 

In the midst of such a scene, beneath the 
preaching of so gifted, so talented a man as Saul 
of Tarsus, there Bat a young man unmoved by the 
tears of the listeners, unaffected by the sermon 
of the minister. Deep Bleep fell heavily upon 

[138] 



SLEEPING IN CHURCH. 139 

his slumbering eye-lids ; his dull ear was closed 
against the touching appeals of the fervent 
speaker. 

The house was no doubt crowded ; for the 
young man was sitting in a window ; " and as 
Paul was long preaching, he sunk down with 
sleep, and fell down from the third loft, and ivas 
taken up dead." (Acts xx. 19.) 

Sleeping, slumbering souls in the church of 
God, beware least you fall asleep and be taken up 
dead I 



SLOTHFULNESS LAMENTED. 

" My drowsy powers, why sleep ye so ? 

Awake, my sluggish soul ; 
Nothing has half thy work to do, 

Yet nothing's half so dull. 

" We, for whom God the Son came down 

And labored for our good, 
How careless to secure that crown 

He purchased with His blood ! 

u Lord, shall we He so sluggish stilL 

And never act our parts ? 
Come, Holy Spirit, come and fill 

And wake and warm our hearts." 



MARGARET WILSON. 

A COVENANTER SKETCH. 

fear not in a world like this, 

And thou shalt know ere long, 
Know how sublime a thing it is 

To suffer and be strong. 

Longfellow. 

Almost two hundred years ago there lived in 
Scotland a girl whose name was Margaret 
Wilson. She was a covenanter ; that is, she 
belonged to that noble band of Scotch Christians 
who claimed the right of worshiping God accord- 
ing to the teachings of their own consciences. 

About this time a violent persecution was com- 
menced against these quiet, inoffensive and pious 
covenanters. The officer who commanded the 
King's (James II.) forces in Scotland was named 
Claverhouse. He was a man of violent tem- 
per, and possessed a heart as hard as adamant. 
The mere mention of his name would cast a 
gloom over many a happy home, and mothers 
would clasp their children closer to their boso 
whenever the news of his approach reached their 
ears. He drank in iniquity like water, and 

(140) 



MARGARET WILSON. 141 

breathed out bitter persecution and death against 
God's servants. The poor covenanters were 
driven from their peaceful homes by his troopers, 
and forced to seek shelter in the rugged sides of 
the mountains. There they were hunted and 
shot down like wild beasts of the forest. Home- 
less, poor, despised, forsaken of man, day after 
day, and night after night, they wandered through 
the pathless woods without clothing to protect 
or food to nourish them. From many a moun- 
tain top, from many a barren heath, in the silence 
of the night, the fervent prayer and the wild 
warbling notes of some simple Scotch hymn went 
up like incense before the face of Jehovah, It is 
true ' ' they were stoned, they were sawn asunder, 
were tempted, were slain with the sword ; they 
wandered about in sheep-skins and goat-skins ; 
being destitute, afflicted, tormented ; they wan- 
dered in deserts and mountains, and in dens and 
caves of the earth." (Acts xi. 37, 38.) They 
were imprisoned by hundreds, and hung by scores. 
Corpses were seen dangling from trees, and the 
atmosphere itself was tainted with death. The 
blood-thirsty troopers spared neither age nor 
sex. The prattling babe and the hoary head 
were alike disregarded. 
The severity of the persecution only made 



142 MARGARET WILSON. 

them cling more closely to their religion, and a 
mighty army of martyrs went up from Scotland 
to join the ranks of the great captain of their 
salvation — Jesus Christ. , 

The noble courage with which Margaret 
Wilson suffered death rather than forsake the 
religion of her childhood, has made her name to 
be held in lasting remembrance. She was quite 
young, but showed a degree of calm composure 
and unshaken faith worthy of much riper years. 
On being seized by the troopers, she was told 
that her life would be spared if she would give 
up her religion. This she positively refused to 
do, and was sentenced to be drowned. She was 
alike unmoved by the fierce countenances of the 
brutal soldiery and their horrible threats. Her 
heart was fixed. She was as firm as a rock. 
Finding her still unyielding, she was taken to a j 
place where the Solway overflows twice a day, 
and securely fastened to a stake fixed in the sand 
between high and low water mark. Presently 
the tide commenced coming in. At first it 
played around her feet ; by and by it rose higher 
and higher ; at last the waves approached within 
a few inches of her lips. Still she remained un- 
moved. ITer unclouded brow looked serene and 
happy. Her cheek was pale, but not with fear. 



MARGARET WILSON. 143 

Her thoughts were wandering by the banks of 
the river of the Water of Life ; she seemed to 
be listening to the angelic notes of the heavenly 
choir. 

" Will you deny now your religion ? " de- 
manded the cruel soldiery. 

" No, never ; I am Christ's ; let me go," she 
gasped out, her voice choked by the gurgling 
water, and the waves closed over her for the last 
time. 



•"THE NOBLE ARMY OF MARTYRS." 

Their blood is shed 
In confirmation of the noblest claim — 
Our claim to feed upon immortal truth ; 
To walk with God ; to be divinely free. 
Yet few remember them. They lived unknown • 
Till persecution dragged them into fame, 
And chased them up to heaven. Their ashes flew 
No marble tells us whither. 

Cowper. 



THE DAY OF LIFE. 

The morning hours of cheerful light, 

Of all the day are best ; 
But as they speed their hasty flight, 
If every hour is spent aright, 
"We sweetly sink to sleep at night, 

And pleasant is our rest. 

And life is like a summer day, 

It seems so quickly past ; 
Youth is the morning bright and gay, 
And if 'tis spent in wisdom's way, 
"We meet old age without dismay, 

And death is sweet at last. 

Jane Taylor. 

(144) 



GILBERT HUNT. 

Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, 
Onward through life he goes ; 
Each morning sees some task begun, 
Each evening sees its close ; 
Something attempted, something done, 
Has earned a night's repose. 

Loxgfellow's Village Blacksmith. 

There lives in the city of Richmond, Virginia, 
a very venerable and highly respected negro 
"blacksmith, named Gilbert Hunt. For more 
than three-score years he has pursued his humble 
calling; and even now, at the advanced age of 
seventy-seven years, the merry ring of Gilbert's 
anvil is among the first things that break the 
stillness of the morning. His shop is situated on 
one of the most business streets in the city ; and 
long before the stores are opened, or the busy 
hum of human voices heard, the lively glow of 
the blacksmith's fire and the unceasing blowing 
of his bellows, whisper in the ear of many a tar- 
dy young man — Be diligent in business. 

Thus has he lived and labored through the 
weary days of many a long year. Though time 
has plowed many a deep furrow across his dusky 
brow, though his head is covered with the 

(145) 



146 GILBERT HUNT. 

almond-tree blossoms of age, thougli those that 
look out of the windows are darkened, thougli 
the doors are shut in the streets, though the 
silver cord has been worn almost to its last 
thread, yet Gilbert Hunt remains still healthy 
and robust, retains the cheerfulness of youth, and 
seems to feel that his work on earth is far from 
being accomplished. 

His dark countenance, while in conversation, 
is lighted up with a happy smile, and you cannot 
help feeling, as you look upon the old and grey- 
headed man, what a precious promise that beau- 
tiful old hymn expresses when it says. 



" E'en down to old age, all my people shall prove 
My sovereign, eternal, unchangeable love ; 
And when hoary hairs shall their temples adorn, 
Like lambs, they ahall still in my bosom be borne." 



The eventful life of this aged blacksmith, to- 
gether with his vivid remembrance of bygone 
days, renders an hour spent in his company very 
pleasant. 

'Tis true, his name is unknown both to fortune 
and to fame ; for but few stop, in this cold world 
of ours, to pay the deserved meed of praise to 
humble, unpretending merit. 



GIBBERT HUNT. 147 

" Far from the madd'ning crowd's ignoble strife, 
His sober wishes never learned to stray — 
Along the cool sequestered vale of life 
He kept the noiseless tenor of his way.'' 

But to return to our first intention. Gilbert 
Hunt was born in the county of King William, 
(Va.,) about the year 1780 ; came to the city of 
Richmond when seventeen years of age ; learned 
the trade of a carriage-maker, at which he work- 
ed for a considerable length of time, and by con- 
stant industry and close economy laid by a suffi- 
cient amount of money to purchase his freedom 
of his master. In 1832, he determined to emi- 
grate to Liberia ; and in February of that year, 
left Virginia. He remained in Africa eight 
months, and having travelled some five hundred 
miles into the interior, returned to the coast and 
' embarked for home. His reception, on arriving 
at Richmond, was one which would have done 
honor to any conqueror or statesman, so highly 
was he respected by the citizens. "When I reached 
Richmond," to use his own language, " the 
wharves were crowded with all classes and con- 
ditions of people ; I was invited to ride up town 
in a very fine carriage, but preferred a plainer 
style, and came up in a Jersey wagon, seated on 
my trunk." Since that time, nothing of special 



148 GIBBERT HUNT. 

interest has transpired in the life of this truly re- 
markable man. " Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing," 
he has followed with unpretending simplicity of 
character his accustomed labor. Success seems 
not to make him proud, nor failure to discourage 
him. He has made a sufficient amount of money 
to enable him to spend the evening of his life in 
quiet retirement, but his place at his shop is sel- 
dom, if ever, vacant. 

For more than half a century he has been a 
consistent member of the Baptist Church ; thus 
teaching us, would we have the needed blessings 
of life added to us, we should seek first the king- 
dom of God and Hisrighteousn 

The event which invests the name of Gilbert 
Hunt with more than ordinary interest, is the 
active part which he took at the burning of the 
Richmond theatre in 1811. 

We add a brief account of this sad occurrence, 
as related by Gilbert himself, feeling there are 
but few eyes which can read it without moisten- 
ing with tears. 

" It was the night of Christinas, 1811. I had 
jusl returned from worship at the Baptist church, 
and was about sitting down to my supper, when 
I was startled by the cry that the Theatre was 
on lire. My wife's mistress called me, and beg- 



GILBERT HUNT. 149 

ged me to hasten to the Theatre, and, if possible, 
save her only daughter, — a young lady who had 
been teaching me my book every night, and one 
whom I loved very much. The wind was quite 
high, and the hissing and crackling flames soon 
wrapt the entire building in their embrace. The 
house was built of wood, and therefore the work 
of destruction was very short. When I reached the 
building I immediately went to the house of a 
colored fiddler, named Gilliat, who lived near 
by, and begged him to lend me a bed on which 
the poor frightened creatures might fall as they 
leaped from the windows. This he positively 
refused to do. I then procured a step-ladder and 
placed it against the wall of the burning build- 
ing. The door was too small to permit the 
crowd, pushed forward by the scorching flames, 
to get out, and numbers of them were madly 
leaping from the windows only to be crushed to 

death by the fall. I looked up and saw Dr. 

standing at one of the top windows, and calling 
to me to catch the ladies as he handed them 
down. I was then young and strong, and the 
poor screaming ladies felt as light as feathers. 
By this means we got all the ladies out of this 
portion of the house.- The flames were rapidly 
approaching the Doctor. They were beginning 



150 GILBERT HUNT. 

to take hold of his clothing, and, me ! I thought 
that good man who had saved so many precious 
lives, was going to be burned up. He jumped 
from the window, and when he touched the 
ground I thought he was dead. He could not 
move an inch. No one was near that part of the 
house, for the wall was tottering like a drunken 
man, and I looked to see it every minute crush 
the Doctor to death. I heard him scream out, 
' Will nobody save me? 7 and at the risk of my 
own life, rushed to him and bore him away to a 
place of safety. The scene surpassed any thing 
I ever saw. The wild shriek of hopeless agony, 
the piercing cry, ' Lord, save, or I perish/ the 
uplifted hands, the earnest prayer for mercy, for 
pardon, for salvation. I think I see it now — all 
— all just as it happened." And the old negro 
stopped to wipe away a tear which was trickling 
down his wrinkled cheek. 

" The next day I went to the place where I 
had seen so much suffering. There lay a heap 
of half-burnt bodies — young and old, rich and 
poor, the governor and the little child — whose 
hearts were still fluttering like leaves. I never 
found my young mistress, and suppose she per- 
ished with the many others who were present on 
that mournful occasion. / thought there would 



GILBERT HUNT. 151 

never be any more theatres after that.' 11 The old 
man was silent ; his tale was told ; tear-drops 
were standing in his eyes. 

Should any of my readers desire to learn more 
of the history of this venerable old negro, the 
simple sign of 



Gilbert Hunt, 
Blacksmith, 



which still hangs over his door, will direct them 
to his lowly shop, and guarantee a warm wel- 
come at his hands. 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 

Under a spreading chestnut tree 

The village smithy stands ; 
The smith, a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp and black and long, 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat, 

He earns whate'er he can, 
And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night 
You can hear his bellows blow ; 

Tou can hear him swing his heavy sledge 
With measured beat, and slow ; 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell 
When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door ; 
They love to see the flaming forge, 

And hear the bellows roar, 
And catch the burning sparks that fly 

Like chaff from a threshing floor. 
(152) 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 153 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits among his boys ; 
He hears the parson pray and preach, 

He hears his daughter's voice 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like his mother's voice 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, 

Onward through life he goes: 
Each morning sees some task begun, 

Each evening sees its close ; 
Something attempted, something done, 

Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 

For the lesson thou hast taught : 
Thus at the flaming forge of life 

Our fortunes must be wrought ; 
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 

Each burning deed and thought. 

Longfellow, 



SKETCHES FOR YOTOG MEN. 



NOTE. 

Finding in my portfolio a number of sketches 
not considered entirely suited to the class for 
whom my little volume is intended, I have deter- 
mined to add them in the form of an appendix, 
with the hope that they may prove interesting 
and instructive to persons of maturer years. 

The Author. 

(155) 



SKETCHES FOR YOUNG MEN. 



THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN. 
No. 1, 
It has long been a mystery to us that the Bible 
is so little read, so poorly appreciated. A few- 
hurried snatches in the morning, the shortest psalm 
in the evening, to a very great extent constitute 
the Bible reading of many who even profess and 
call themselves Christians. The prolific press is 
daily pouring forth issues of aids to Scripture 
reading ; the most gifted intellects, both of this 
and other lands, are using all their powers to 
make the Bible the text-book of the age ; but in 
vain. There seems to have arisen, in the minds 
of many, an insatiable desire for something new, 
something stirring, something calculated to arouse 
their stupified faculties. 

Persons will pore, hour after hour, over the 
pages of some trashy novel, while the Bible — its 
pages glittering with golden truths— its chapters 
glowing with a Saviour's love— lies unopened for 
weeks, yea, months ; its clasps blackened by can* 
ker — its cover thick with dust* 

14 [157] 



158 THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN. 

They will nestle in their bosoms the sin-stained 
pages of Byron — not knowing his slime is pollut- 
ing, his poison infecting, the purest affections of 
their hearts, while a stream of living water is 
gushing from this ever full and overflowing foun- 
tain of Truth. In the one are found waters of 
Marah ; in the other, sweet, soul-inspiring, soul- 
cheering streams, whose supply is never wanting, 
whose freshness never departs. 

You cannot inflict greater punishment on some 
persons than force them daily to read a portion 
of God's word. To them it is as a root out of 
dry ground, having no form or comeliness. Not- 
withstanding this, we find in the Bible every thing 
that is attractive and lovely. Viewed as a lite- 
rary production, aside from its inspiration, there 
is no work, ancient or modern, which is marked 
by such variety of style — such beauty of diction 
— such sublimity of sentiment. Its writers are 
taken from all classes and conditions of life — 
from the shepherd boy that watches hia father's 
flocks on the grassy hill-sides of Judea, to the 
king, the golden magnificence of whose court, and 
onerring wisdom, attracted the notice of Arabia's 
queen — from the humble fisherman who mends 
his nets on the shores of " deep Galilee,' 7 to the 
talented Bcholar of the learned Gamaliel. 



THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN. 159 

The rich and the poor, the aged and the young, 
the wise and the ignorant, the pastor and his 
people, can all discover in its pages something to 
suit their respective situations. In fact, from 
Genesis to Revelation, it is filled with truths sim- 
ple enough for the prattling child — deep enough 
for the profoundest scholar. 

What sublime simplicity characterizes the Pen- 
tateuch ! what melodious notes fall upon the ear, 
like " sweet music from some far-off isle enchant- 
ed/' as the sweet Psalmist of Israel sweeps the . 
cords of his thrilling harp ! what rapt, impas- 
sioned eloquence bursts from prophetic souls as 
they picture the future glory of Immanuel's king- 
dom, or paint the awful scenes of that wrathful 
day, 

u When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, 
The flaming heavens together roll ; 
"When louder yet, and yet more dread, 
Swells the high trump that wakes the dead 1" 
Rural Retirement, Va. 



THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN. 

No. 2. 
Turn to the New Testament. How touching 
those simple narratives ! Hard indeed must be 



160 THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN. 

the heart of him who can read without d 
tion, that truly affecting account of the returi 
the prodigal son to the father of his early love, 
the home and scenes of his childhood. 

Behold that aged man, as with tottering step, 
forgetful of the pressing weight of his many 
years, he runs to meet his poor wayward boy, 
clasps him to his yearning bosom, falls on his 
neck and kisses him. 

Stand beside the grave of Lazarus ; look at 
those loving sisters of "Bethany, as with throbbing 
hearts and swollen eyes they gather around the 
last resting-place of that much-loved and only 
brother. Is your heart more unfeeling than the 
heart of Him of whom it was said, " Behold how 
he loved him ?" If not, then moisten his grave 
with a tear of sympathy for those heart-stricken 
sisters ; for it is not unmanly to weep, — 

"That noble gift ! that privilege of man." 

Let us leave these scenes, so well calculated to 
sadden the heart and moisten the eye and turn 
to others of a far different nature. 

Look at that stranger standing on Mars Hill. 
"lis true he is not commanding in person ; nei- 
ther is his spcecli in itself eloquent ; but there is 
an electric current which continually passes from 



THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN". 161 

his soul to his eye, making it to flash with daz- 
zling brilliancy. 

With the deep blue sky as his canopy, and 
standing where Socrates once stood, he begins 
one of the most highly finished and closely ar- 
gued orations on record. 

With kindling features and burning ardor, he 
enters at once into the mysteries of his subject, — 
The nature of God. What eloquence ! 

" It wields at will that fierce democracy." 

John Milton has truly remarked : " There are 
no songs comparable to the songs of Zion ; no 
orations equal to those of the prophets ; no poli- 
tics like those which the Scriptures teach." 

But there is another feature in this precious 
Book to which we would briefly direct your at- 
tention. 

The Characters. — A young man, dressed in 
the plain garb of a husbandman, is wandering 
over the rugged sides of mount Ephraim in search 
of his father's cattle. Exposure to wind and 
storm has rendered his frame robust, his tread 
firm and steady. Fearless courage sits enthroned 
on his peerless brow ;. stubborn resolution, untir- 
ing energy, prompt decision, all beam from a 
countenance, which, though bronzed by the ardent 
14* 



162 THE LAMP AND THE LANTh 

frown of the summer's sun, yet is none the less 
attractive for the noble qualities which it so 
plainly displays. But it is the commanding ap- 
pearance of his person, the symmetry of his form, 
which first unconsciously draws the attention. 
As the oak of the forest. lifts its head far above 
the surrounding trees, so does the dauntless crest 
of this choice young man rise head and shoul- 
ders above his companions. 

Such is the person and character of him who 
was chosen as the first king of Israel ; ' and as 
Pallas, " over the head and shoulders broad' 7 of 
Ulysses, 

" Diffused grace celestial, his whole form 
Dilated, and to statelier height advanced, 
That worthier of all reverence he might 
To the Phaeacians," 

so God endowed the son of Kish, in order that 
he might better command the respect of those 
over whom he was called to preside. 

Time does not suffice to notice in detail his 
anointing by the venerable Samuel, nor the 
swelling tide of human beings which rolled along 
the streets of Mizpah, on the day of his procla- 
mation, nor how the enemies of Israel were swept 
before his stalwart arm, like chaff before the 
whirlwind. 



THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN. 163 

Thus far Saul presents one of the noblest spec- 
imens of filial obedience, of daring bravery, of 
unreserved submission to the will of God, to be 
found in sacred history. 

But his heart becomes elated at his unparal- 
leled success, and the remainder of his life is a 
series of heaven-daring presumption, of flagrant 
disobedience, of detestable faithlessness, of un- 
manly cowardice ; his bosom swells with arro- 
gant pride — that invariable precursor of destruc- 
tion — which paves his way to the most ignomin- 
ious of deaths — that of a cowardly suicide. 

"Then wish not o'er his earthly tomb 
The baneful night-shades' lurid bloom 

To drop its deadly dew ; 
Nor oh ! forbid the twisted thorn, 
That rudely binds his turf forlorn, 

With spring's green swelling buds to vegetate anew." 

But only remember that one act of indiscretion 
will blast a lifetime of virtue and usefulness ; 
and remember also how essential it is that we 
be true to our God, true to our country, true to 
ourselves. 

Rural Retirement, Ya. 



164 THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN. 



THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN. 

No. 3. 

There is one other character, noticeable for 
none of those traits which mark the life of Saul ; 
yet of an order to which no one, we think, will 
be unwilling to pay deserved tribute, — which 
next claims our attention. 

Two men — the one in the prime of manly vigor, 
the other has passed the ordinary limits of human 
life — are standing on the banks of the Jordan. 
The one is arrayed in royal garments, the other 
in a pastoral garb, — for during many a long year 
has he led his flocks beside the still waters, and 
made them to lie down in the green pastures of 
Gilead. 

The snows of four-score years have fallen softly 
upon his head, and his " brow has grown wrinkled 
like the brown sea sand from which the tide of 
life is ebbing." The friends of his youtli are 
asleep with their fathers / the playmates of his 
childhood have also been laid in the cold and 
silent sepulchres of Nebo or Pisgah. With the 
Poet he exclaims, 

" They are all dead now : 
I'm old and lonely." 

He is Hind. 



THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN". 165 

" Thus with the year 
Seasons return. But not to him returns 
Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn, 
Or sight of vernal bloom or summer's rose, 
Or flocks or herds, or human face divine. 1 ' 

To him taste has lost its sweetness ; music, its 
melody. 

David — for it is he who wears the robes of roy- 
alty, — insists on his aged friend accompanying 
him to Jerusalem. 

Noble-hearted old Barzillai replies, that he will 

go a little way with him beyond Jordan, but adds, 

Let thy servant, I pray thee, turn back again, 

that I may die in mine own city, and be buried in 

the grave of my father and my mother." 

How beautiful ! how touching ! how true to 
nature ! 

The winter of age is not severe enough to wither 
the blossoms of youth !— — 

A storm is raging on the sea of Galilee ; the 
heavens are black with clouds ; the moaning of 
the billows, as they dash against the sides of the 
vessel, falls on the ear with a peculiar loneliness ; 
the winds are howling fearfully through the rig- 
ging ; an occasional flash of lightning, as it darts 
athwart the waters, reveals to the eye many a 
face pale with fear, and many a form struggling 
nobly with the furious elements. 



166 THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN. 

There is on that vessel an old weather-beaten 
sailor, whose home is the bosom of the lake. 
Hardship and exposure have rendered him per- 
fectly reckless as to danger. His brow shows no 
signs of fear ; his noble heart throbs only with 
emotions of fearless daring. 

A familiar voice is heard above the fury of the 
winds, the roar of the waves. 

The practiced ear of the sturdy old sailor 
quickly catches the sound, recognizes it as his 
Master's voice, and with impetuous zeal and un- 
shaken confidence, makes an attempt to rush into 
his embrace. 

Though this Galilean fisherman doubtless pos- 
sessed a rough exterior, yet his heart was easily 
warmed into expressions of the deepest love, and 
quickly melted to tears. 

At one time we behold him, with that quick im- 
petuosity which so peculiarly distinguished him, 
cutting off the ear of a high priest's servant ; at 
another, going out into retirement, and weeping 
witli intense bitterness. 

In no instance is his ardent temperament more 
plainly shown, than the one in which Christ ap- 
pears to His disciples by the dim twilight of morn- 
ing on the shores of Galilee. It is he who hastily 
girds his fisher's coat about him, casts himself into 



THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN. 167 

the sea and swims with longing earnestness to 
the shore. 

It is true there are some acts in this noble 
apostle's life over which we should like to throw 
the mantle of forgetfulness ; yet there is much 
worthy of admiration and imitation. 

No one ever suffered more than he on account 
of his errors ; no one of the apostles labored 
with more self-denying application for his Mas- 
ter's cause ; and we are sure no one received a 
richer reward. 

We know not with any degree of certainty 
how he died, though tradition informs us that 
he was crucified, with his head towards the earth, 
thus showing he never forgot, to the last hour of 
his life, that one act of denial which caused him 
so many bitter tears, such intense anguish of 
spirit. 

There are many other lovely characters which, 
did time permit, we should love to dwell upon. 

Let us read God's word with more diligence 
and greater earnestness in the future than we 
have in the past : let us lay its sacred truths up 
in our hearts, and practice them in our lives. 

Oh! let us rejoice, that this lamp does not 
shed its light on a chosen few, but that its rays 
have penetrated many a land of darkened igno- 



168 THE LAMP AND THE LANTERN. 

ranee and fiendish cruelty, scattering joy and 
happiness in habitations where sorrow and mis- 
ery once had their abode. 

Let us thank God, that leaves from this Tree 
of Life have been wafted by propitious breezes 
throughout the length and breadth of the world. 
They are to be found in the hut of the Esquimaux, 
the hovel of the African, the wigwam of the In- 
dian, in the cottage of the laborer, in the palace 
of the lord, floating on the surface of the Ganges, 
fringing the borders of the Nile. 

'Tia a fountain ever bursting, 
Whence the weary may obtain 

"Water for the soul that's thirsting, 
And shall never thirst again. 

'Tis a lamp forever burning, 

By whose never-dying light, 
Sinners, from their errors turning, 

Are directed through the night. 

'Ts a mine of richest treasure, 

Laden with tho purest oro ; 
And its contents, without measure, 

You can never well explore. 

'Tis a chart that never fails you, 

Which God to man has given, 
And, though rudest storms assail you, 

Will guido you safe to heaven. 



" WHO SHAL^ BE THE GREATEST ? " 169 

'Tis a tree whose fruits unfailing, 
Cheer and stay the fainting souL 

And whose leaves, the nations healing, 
Scatter joy from pole to pole 

"Tis a pearl of price exceeding 

All the gems in ocean found ; — 
To its precepts ever listening, 
In its truths may I abound. 
Kueal Retirement, Va. 



"WHO SHALL BE THE GREATEST?" 
No. 1. 

A teacher of great wisdom is seated in the 
midst of a class of students, who long have hung 
with breathless silence on the wonderful words 
which fall from his lips. His class is com- 
posed of persons from nearly all conditions and 
callings of life. Some have been nurtured on 
the bosom of the deep ; some dwelt from early 
childhood under the shadows of venerable moun- 
tains, and caught from them true nobility and lof- 
tiness of soul ; others, doubtless, spent their days 
in the peaceful pursuits of husbandry ; while one, 
at least, has lived amid the active duties of pub- 
lic life, demanding, perhaps, with Shylock relent- 



170 "who shall be the#greatest ? " 

lessness, the uttermost farthing from the hand of 
his debtor. 

As they sit at the feet of their instructor, what 
diversity of disposition meets our eye. One is 
impulsive, ardent, passionate ; by his side sits an- 
other, of fervent love, gentle mildness, unshaken 
confidence ; another is evidently very skeptical 
— sometimes doubting the truthfulness of his own 
vision ; by his side is one whose heart is as guile- 
less as that of a little child ; while not far off, 
is another, of calculating mind and heart, as black 
as night with vile hypocrisy. 

What is the question which has so deeply ab- 
sorbed their thoughts ? — It is one which they 
have been discussing by the wayside — for their 
cheeks would burn with shame did they think 
their Master suspected such feelings ever throb- 
bed in their bosoms. It is this : — 

" Who shall be the greatest ?" (Mark 9 : 
34.) That this is still an absorbing thought of 
mankind, may be seen from the anxious brow and 
hurried step of the merchant, the feeble frame 
and the hollow cheek of the student, the brawny 
arm and vigorous tread of the laborer ; yea, the 
skeleton fingers of the lowly seamstress, as she 
mingles her very life's blood with her daily toil, 
and sings alike the " Song of the Shirt," and the 



"WHO SHALL BE THE GREATEST?" 171 

Dirge of the Sewer. Neither is it alone common 
to the city of the living ; its intrusive front has 
even invaded the solemn silence of the city of 
the sleeping dead. 

Though prattling childhood and hoary-headed 
age, the lordly rich and the needy poor, there 
dwell side by side, how great is the contrast be- 
tween the places of their abode ! Over the one 
rises the proud monument, on whose cold front 
are written in letters of gold the names and 
deeds of the dead. The simple rose, with its 
blushing purity, planted by the hand of affection, 
and watered by the tears of love, sweetly blooms 
above the other. In what beautiful numbers has 
the poet sung : 

" Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault 
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 
"Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

" Can storied urn .or animated bust, 
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust, 
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death ?" 



172 "WHO SHALL BE THE GREATEST?" 

"WHO SHALL BE THE GREATEST?*' 
No. 2. 

Men are ambitious of the esteem of those who 
are prominent in the eyes of the world on account 
of their wealth, their greatness, their learning. 

How fond we are of the notice of the rich ! 
How we strive to win their approbation ! How 
we labor to gain their interest! How highly- 
prized, how exaggerated, how boasted of, their 
slightest attentions. We will lick the very dust 
from the feet of wealth, and refuse to shake the 
honest hand of 'poverty. With what amazing 
sycophancy do we bow our heads at the footstool 
of him who has been mighty in battle, or great 
in the councils of the nation ! And then the 
learned ! How we out-Boswell Boswell himself, in 
picking up the crumbs which fall from their tables. 
In their august presence the world-worshipper 
prostrates himself in the dust of humility, and 
looks up to them for a smile with that air of ser- 
vility with which the dog turns his face to the 
eye of his master for a crust of bread. 

Men arc Ambitious of Wealth. 
The son of some poor cottager is charmed by 
the glitter and glare of riches. His father's cot- 



"who shall be the greatest?" 173 

tage soon becomes two small for his accommoda- 
tion ; the narrow confines of the little farm 
cramp too much his swelling expectations. He 
leaves the home of his childhood, the friends of 
his youth, and enters the busy, bustling marts of 
commerce. No stone, however heavy, is left un- 
turned ; no task is too burdensome, no difficulty 
too great, for the accomplishment of his heart's 
desire. Toilsome labor, assiduous application, 
penurious economy, a heart steeled alike against 
the cries of want, the claims of his Maker, are 
called into requisition for the furtherance of this 
one mighty object. Visions of beautiful and 
boundless fields — of coffers overflowing with 
gold, of princely mansions, flit across his disor- 
dered imagination during the silent watches ot 
the night. The more fuel he adds, the stronger 
the passion burns. 

As the shipwrecked mariner, driven at the 
mercy of the winds and waves, seeks to quench 
his burning thirst by drinking the briny element 
which surrounds him, only to find that his hirst is 
increased rather than diminished, so does man. 
find his desire for wealth increase with each suc- 
cessive gain. Soon his ledger becomes his Bible,. , 
his bank his sanctuary, his gold the god at whose ) 
shrine he bows morning, noon and night. — When. 
15* 



174 "WHO SHALL BE THE GREATEST?" 

he lias reached the dregs of his existence, when 
his body is wasted by disease, weakened by age, 
when enfeebled Reason sits tottering on her 
throne, how bitter must be his thoughts when they 
revert to the hearts he has left all crushed and 
bleeding, to the homes all deserted and destroyed. 
— He then begins fully to realize the fact that he 
has been in the constant pursuit of an ever-re- 
ceding ignis-fcduus, which dazzled only to destroy 
him. He has betrayed the noblest principles of 
the human heart for the sake of filthy lucre : 
like Judas, madly dashes the occasion of his mis- 
ery to the ground, and frequently goes forth and 
hangs himself. 



"WHO SHALL BE THE GREATEST?" 
No. 3. 

Men are Ambitious of Distinction. 

As the child with uplifted hand and eager look 
chases the bubble which its tiny lips have fash- 
ioned, only to find that it vanishes into thin air 
as soon as it is grasped, so does man, seemingly 
but a child in understanding, spend days and 
nights of laborious toil in pursuit of the bubble 
Distinction 



"who shall be the greatest?" 175 

The heart of some youthful aspirant is fixed 
with a burning desire for the gaudy tinsel of dis- 
tinction, with which the name of some hero in 
life's battle is clothed. He abandons the cheerful 
fireside and genial society of home, and chooses 
for himself some arduous profession. Every en- 
ergy is bent towards this one great object of 
his life. Every faculty of mind and body is ren- 
dered subservient to this " heart's desire." Hours 
which Nature has allotted to rest, are spent in 
unwearied application. He finds himself not 
only burning the oil of his midnight lamp, but 
the oil of the very lamp of life itself. He soon 
finds that the race is not always to the swift, nor 
the battle to the strong — that " there is a Divin- 
ity that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we 
may." 

As one competitor after another passes him, 
lean-faced Envy whispers words of malice in his 
ready ear, so that him whom he once loved he then 
despises. 

As Themistocles could not sleep because of the 
deserved honors of Melviades, so do the deserved 
honors of his rivals drive peace from his side, 
repose from his couch. " 

Every laurel which crowns their brows be- 
comes a thorn in his pillow. Anxiety for the fu- 



176 "who shall be the greatest?" 

ture, dissatisfaction with the present, remorse for 
the past, embitter his lonely hours. Long-defer- 
red hope makes his heart sick. And then he 
comes to the pass of death. 

" Another followed fast, 

And a book was in his hand, 

Filled with the flashes of burning thought, 

That are known in many a land ; 

But the child of Genius quailed to hear 

Death's pitiless demand. 

u Here that book cannot enter with thee. 

For the bright flash of Genius is nothing to me," 

He presses into the unknown night alone, leav- 
ing behind him the sad warning to those who 
come after him — Love not the praise of men 

MORE THAN THE PRAISE OF GOD. (John 12 \ 43.) 

It may seem that we have painted the lovers 
of wealth and distinction in colors too deep and 
dark. They, however, are intended as the back- 
ground from which true nobility and true great- 
hall stand forth with greater beauty and 
loveliness. 

He who is conscious of possessing powers ca- 
pable of benefiting his fellow man. and spends 
his time and talents in inglorious ease, is guilty 
of sinful Belf-indulgence. It is not ours, like the 
stupid rustic, to sit still and wait until the stream 



"who shall be the greatest?" 177 

passes by in order that we may cross, but rather 
stem the current and breast its billows. If we 
succeed, then success has been gained where it is 
always surest and sweetest, in the discharge of 
duty. We have sacrificed no principle ; we have 
stooped to no mean act ; our gold is not stained 
with the blood of trampled-on innocence ; our 
reputation has not been gained in the pathway 
of shame. 

If we fail, then we are encouraged by the 
thought that we have done what we could. (Mark 
14:8.) 

In reply to a letter from a young man in which 
the following sentence occurred, — 

" If I know my own heart, I ask not wealth 
or honor ; but to do good and to communicate, 
(Heb. 13 : 16) is the object of my life," — a suc- 
cessful Christian merchant thus wrote : 

" The object of your life as you explain it, is the 
noblest on the face of the earth ; and although it 
will not bring you worldly wealth and ease, it is 
sure of much higher reward both here and here- 
after. Press forward. Never lose sight of it. Be 
very thankful that God has thus called you to 
his service, and show Him your gratitude by 
consecrating yourself wholly to Him. I think I 
have lived long enough to know that your choice, 



178 "WHO SHALL BE THE GREATEST?" 

or the service to which you are called, is not 
only the noblest, but in fact, the only service worth 
a man's living for at all. How many failures do 
we see in the lives of the ambitious and the £reat 
notwithstanding advantages of the highest dis- 
tinction. But bankruptcy ivith a genuine child of 
God is impossible. His life CANNOT be a fail- 

URE. 

That there are and have been numberless per- 
sons, the object of whose lives was to advance 
Christ's Kingdom and add to the happiness of 
their fellow-men, we have abundant testimony. 
The names of Howard, of Wilberforce, of Mc- 
Cheyne, of Henry Martyn, of Hedley Vicars, of 
Brainerd Taylor, of Harlan Page, of noble- 
hearted Daniel Baker, the pioneer of the cross 
in the wilds of Texas, of many others, of whom 
the world is not worthy, stand out in the boldest 
prominence. Yea, such men are to be seen 
around us every day. In the pulpit, at the bar, 
in the counting-room of the merchant, in the shop 
of the mechanic, at the bedside of the sick and 
dying, fearing neither the death-breathing pesti- 
lence, nor the destruction that wasteth at noonday. 

Shall it not, then, be ours to follow in their 
footsteps? Is there any pleasure so great as 
the pleasure of doing good? 



"WHO SHALL BE THE GKEATEST ? " 179 

Who shall be the greatest? Not in worldly 
honors, but in the measureless wealth of disinter- 
ested kindness, and the unfading honors that 
cluster around the Cross of Christ. 

Longfellow beautifully sketches the upward 
■and onward career of a youth who, despite the 
warnings of the aged, the entreaties of the 
young, wound his weary way up the steep 
sides of one of the Alps mountains only to make 
his grave beneath the cold snow of the topmost 
peak. 

The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device, 

Excelsior. 

"Beware the pine tree's wither'd branch 
Beware the awful avalanche !" 
This was the peasant" s last good-night, — 
A voice replied, far up the height, 

Excelsior. 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of St. Bernard 
Uttered the oft repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air 

Excelsior. 

A traveller, by the faithful hound, 
Half-buried in the snow was found, 



180 "WHO SHALL BE THE GREATEST?" 

Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device — 

ExCELSIOB. 

There, in the twilight cold and grey, 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, 
And from the sky serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star, 

Excelsior. 



THE POOR CONSUMPTIVE. 



A COLPORTEUR SKETCH. 
" Is this the place where a princess dwells, 

A favored daughter of the King of kings ? 
"Within their humble and contracted cells, 

Do heavenly spirits wave their guardian wings ?" 

Stretched on a bed of painful sickness there 
lay a woman in the last stages of consumption. 
Pale-faced poverty was an inmate of the hovel 
in which she dwelt. The broken panes of glass, 
the bare floor, the large cracks in the wall,, the 
scanty covering, carefully thrown over the bed, 
all plainly bespoke the absence of the very ne- 
cessaries of life. As I entered the door, my 
heart throbbed hurriedly when my eyes caught 
the destitution, the misery, the wretchedness, 
which surrounded me. Several children, from 
six to fourteen years of age, were in the room — 
some of them lying together on the floor, others 
seated on the remnant of a chair, while one little 
fellow, with matted "hair and unwashed face, 
scowled at me from behind a door, as if he 
thought me an unwelcome- visitor. The children 
had evidently been long neglected. No voice of 
16 [181] 



182 THE POOR CONSUMPTIVE. 

love had often fallen on their ears ; no smile of 
affection had cheered their loneliness. Their 
lives had been made up with scenes of want and 
wretchedness. Their minds were like gardens 
all overgrown with noxious weeds. But few 
seeds of truth had been sown in their little hearts 
by the hand of kindness, and their little voices 
had never sung the sweet notes of " Happy Day," 
or "The Sabbath-school." 

But let me not forget the quiet sufferer, who, 
with such calm composure, has all this time been 
lying in unbroken silence. Her days are almost 
numbered. Consumption, that fell destroyer of 
human hopes, has long been gnawing at her 
heart-strings. The cord of life is worn almost 
to its last thread. Her hollow cheek, her wasted 
form, her sunken, death-glazed eye, all tell me 
that the cold, clammy hand of Death is gradually 
chilling her life-blood. She breathes with diffi- 
culty, for her lungs are too far gone to perform 
their functions. Now and then a hacking cough 
seems as if it would rend her frail chest to pieces. 
In her feeble hand she holds a fan, with which 
she is endeavoring to cool her burning brow. Its 
faint fluttering is but the counterpart of the al- 
most fainter fluttering of life, as it hovers round 
her heart. 



THE POOR CONSUMPTIVE. 183 

I sat for several moments quietly gazing on 
the wan and wasted features of the poor sufferer, 
before I could summon the resolution to say a 
word. I finally broke the solemn silence which 
filled the desolate chamber, by telling her that I 
sympathized very deeply with her in the suffer- 
ing through which she had to pass. 

I then asked her, if God should see fit to call 
her away from earth, did she think she was pre- 
pared for so awful a change. She feebly whis- 
pered " Yes." 

" What is then to become of your unprotected 
children?" 

" God will take care of them." 

" Do you think it right that you should suffer 
so much, while others are in the enjoyment of 
countless blessings ?" 

" Perfectly." 

" Shall I read a portion of God's Word, and 
pray with you ?" 

" If you please, sir." 

She reached her arm under the pillow and 
drew forth a Bible. Oh ! how precious a thing 
it is, in the hour of death, to pillow one's weary 
aead on the precious promises of that blessed 
Book ! 

I slowly turned its sacred pages till I reached 



184 THE POOR CONSUMPTIVE. 

the fourteenth chapter of John — that chapter of 
blessed memory, which has soothed the troubled 
spirits of so many dying souls — after reading 
which. I knelt at her bedside and united with her 
in prayer. When I arose from my knees, her 
eyes were melted to tears, and a calm and holy 
peace rested on her pale and emaciated fa 

Reader, it was a precious season to my own 
soul. God grant that the influences of that scene 
may never depart from me. My heart was cast 
down in humility, in penitence, as I remembered 
how often I had rebelled against God's holy law. 
The unbidden tear was quietly trickling down 
my own cheek as I left that Bethel — that house 
of God. 

Since writing the above, " The Poor Consump- 
tive" has sweetly fallen asleep in Jesus. 



« WHAT I LIVE FOR." 

" I live for those who love me, 

For those who know me true ; 
For the heaven that smiles above me, 

And awaits my spirit too: 
For the cause that lacks assistance, 
For the wrong that needs resistance, 
For the Future in the distance, 
And the good that I can do." 



WHAT I LITE FOR. 185 

We are told that a word, when it has fallen 
from the lips, never dies away ; that the sound 
goes on widening and widening throughout the 
immensity of space. 

Such are our lives. The acts which we do, the 
words which we utter, are exerting an untold in- 
fluence for good or for evil. They are moulding, 
silently but certainly, the character of those by 
whom we are surrounded, for weal or for woe. 
Their influence extends even to eternity. 

Fellow Christians ! impressed with this solemn 
thought, let our heart's desire be to minister to 
the wants of the sick and dying, to carry the 
glad tidings of salvation to the hovels of igno- 
rance and poverty, to cheer the homeless orphan, 
•to console the friendless widow ; for by so doing, 
we shall surely gain our reward both in this world 
and that which is to come. Let us do what we 
can to dry the tear of sorrow, to gladden the 
heart of the laborer in his long hours of lonely 
toil ; do what we can by precept, by prayer, by 
example, by toilsome labor, to win souls to Jesus 
Christ. Who had not rather be the means of 
saving one soul, than obtain all the riches or re- 
ceive all the honors the world can furnish? — 

16* 



THE LAST SERMON OF THE SEASON. 

"What a thought! The last opportunity I 
shall ever enjoy of making my peace with God ; 
the last time I shall ever listen to the glad ti- 
dings of salvation ; the last time I shall hear 
from the sacred desk the earnest entreaty, Come 
to Jesus ; the last time I shall ever sing the songs 
of Zion I" 

Such were the thoughts which rushed wildly 
through the mind of a young man as his unwil- 
ling feet lingered on the steps of the house of 
God. He was leaving that house with a heart 
at enmity with his heavenly Father. Again and 
again had he put off for a convenient season the 
eternal interests of his never-dying soul. Long, 
long had Satan pacified his restless conscic 
by whispering in his ear that to-morrow would 
be time enough. To-morrow after to-morrow 
had come and gone, yet he was farther from sal- 
vation than he had ever been. 

The minister's earnest entreaty, a conviction 
of the awful eternity which awaited him if he 

[186] 



THE LAST SERMON OF THE SEASON. 187 

died in his sins, pressed with burning weight 
upon his thoughts. He seemed to be held fast 
by some resistless power. " Perhaps it may be 
the last night of the season of salvation ; God 
only knows. I will arise and go to my Father/' 
thought he to himself. He sought the minister ; 
went with him to his study ; and there, by the 
aid of God's Spirit, trusts he gave himself to his 
"Saviour. 

Fellow sinner, this may be the last night of the 
season of salvation to you. Will you not come to 
Jesus ? Father and mother, brother and sister, 
those that love you tenderly, all join in the en- 
treaty, Come to Jesus. He is a precious Saviour ; 
he is a willing Saviour ; he is an able Saviour. 
Then will you not come and cast your burden of 
sin upon him ? He has never turned away one 
soul. " Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to 
the waters, and he that hath no money ; come 
ye, buy and eat ; yea, come, buy wine and milk 
without money and without price." 



"WILL NOBODY SAVE ME?" 

11 Nothing in my hand I bring, 
Simply to thy cross I cling ; 
Naked come to thee for dress : 
Helpless, look to thee for grace ; 
Yile, I to the fountain fly ; 
Wash me, Saviour, or I die." 

During the burning of the Eichraond theatre, 
in 1811, a gentleman who had nobly endangered 
his own life in endeavoring to rescue others from 
the jaws of the devouring flames, was seen to 
leap from one of the topmost windows to the 
ground. So severe was the fall, he was unable 
to move an inch. Above him stood the tottering 
wall, ready to fall and crush him to death. He 
looked around him ; not a soul was near. From 
the depths of his agony, he cried out, " Will no. 
body save me ?" The cry fell on the ear of a 
sturdy negro, who rushed to him, and bore him 
away in his strong and brawny arms to a place 
of safety. 

Such is the case with the sinner. When he 
[188] U 



"WILL NOBODY SALE ME?" 189 

finds that of himself he can do nothing, that 
God's angry vengeance is tottering above his 
head, that no one is near to save him, then it is 
that he cries, " Will nobody save me?" The cry 
comes to the waiting ear of. his blessed Saviour, 
and He bears him away in His arms of love to His 
Father's bosom. 



A SABBATH IN THE COUNTRY. 

There is something to me peculiarly pleasant 
in a country Sabbath. No rattle of carts, no 
bustle of crowds, no hum of voices, disturb the 
calm and holy quietude of the hallowed day. 
Cattle are quietly grazing on grassy meadows, or 
sleeping in the refreshing shade ; the irregular 
tinkle of the sheep-beli falls sweetly on the ear ; 
the plough stands motionless in the unfinished 
furrow ; the little songster trills from some swing- 
ing bough its morning song. The household dog 
seems to know it is a day of peaceful rest. His 
voice is hushed in silence. The clouds glide 
calmly across the heavens ; the rays of the Sab- 
bath sun rest sweetly on the face of nature. A 
dreamy, delightful serenity hovers over all the 
land. The incense of prayer rises from many a 
family altar, and the accents of praise tremble 
on many a lip. 

Let us go up to the house of God. How dif- 
ferent from our city churches ! Perhaps it is 



A SABBATH IN THE COUNTRY. 191 

some venerable building whose foundation was 
laid by men to whom the faces and forms of a 
Samuel Davies, or William Wilson, were familiar ; 
perhaps remains of the foundation erected for the 
•protection of God's people against savage cruelty 
still linger around it ; perhaps marks of the In- 
dian's bullet have not yet been effaced from its 
rude stone walls. Let us cross its threshold. No 
stained glass softens the rays of light, no cush" 
ioned pew invites you to a seat, no costly pulpit 
meets your eye ; no beautiful fresco will draw 
your attention from the minister or the word of 
God. Every thing is as plain, as practical, as 
solid, as the men who first worshipped beneath 
its roof, but who now sleep beneath the waving 
grass of the adjoining cemetery. 

One by one the congregation begin to enter 
and take their seats. They reverently bow their 
heads and seek the aid of God's Spirit to enable 
them rightly to understand and apply the truths 
to which they shall listen. Many and varied are 
the personages which draw the attention. One 
is a venerable elder : time has not dealt gently 
with him ; his brow is furrowed, his cheek wrin- 
kled, and he totters feebly to his seat beneath the 
weight of many years, and a life of laborious toil. 
Though the fires of life are well nigh gone out, 



192 A SABBATH IN THE COUNTRY. 

hope burns brightly in his heart, and beams forth 
from his eye. The assurance that his Redeemer 
liveth, is the rod and staff on which he leans for 
support. Another is a young man. His step is 
firm, his frame robust. He has not seen the 
snows of more than twenty winters. His coun" 
tenance wears a thoughtful, solemn air. He is 
thinking of God, of heaven, of eternity. He has 
not come to the house of God because it is his cus. 
torn, to see a friend, or to while away an hour. 
His is a nobler object. It is to worship God, to 
obtain instruction which shall lead his steps in 
the ways of righteousness, the paths of peace. 
At his side sits his mother — " he is the only son 
of his mother, and she a widow." 

But another form, of dignified, yet gentle, de- 
meanor, enters the door. The placid features of 
his face, the mildness of his eye, point him out as " 
the man of God." His appearance is such as at 
once to attract the attention. He is very tall, 
perhaps above six feet. His person is quite 
spare. He is slightly bowed with age, and as he 
feebly walks down the aisle, you almost involun- 
tarily rise from your seat as if to do him rever- 
ence. He has long been a laborer in his Mas- 
ter's vineyard. For more than half a century 
has he proclaimed the glad tidings of salvation 



A SABBATH IX THE COUNTRY. 193 

from the same pulpit which he now occupies. His 
mind easily reverts to the time when the whistle 
of the red man's bullet was liable at any mo- 
ment to disturb the worship of God's people ; 
when the hardy pioneers of Christ and His king- 
dom came up to the house of God with muskets 
lashed to their backs. The thriving village in 
which he now resides was then almost a wilder- 
ness ; cattle grazed, and corn grew in the fertile 
valleys from which now rises the populous city. 
The wild Alleghanies, then the home of the beasts 
of the forest, now daily echo with the rattle of 
the stage coach ; and the shrill whistle of the lo- 
comotive has made the panther and the bear to 
seek shelter in the more distant West. He is 
one of a very few of the links which bind the 
Virginia of the present with the Virginia of 
fifty years ago. His few remaining silver locks 
are combed back from a forehead of fine propor- 
tions. He enters the sacred desk ; bows his 
head and supplicates the assistance of God's 
Spirit. He rises ; " Let us worship God," falls 
tremblingly from his lips, and the whole congre- 
gation rise to their feet. With earnestness, with 
simplicity, he invokes the presence of Him with 
whom is the residue" of the Spirit. He then 
slowly turns to that beautiful old hymn, so dear 
to God's people— 



194 A SABBATH IN - THE COUNTRY. 

" Whilst Thee I seek protecting power 1 
Be my vain wishes stilled ; 
And may this consecrated hour 
With better hopes be filled." 

So distinct is his enunciation that his voice 
falters on every syllable. Every heart trembles 
in unison with his, and many an eye is dimmed 
with the unbidden tear. From almost the entire 
congregation rises up a united song of praise. 
One voice after another catches it up, till there 
is scarcely one which does not join in the melo- 
dious hymn. 

u They chant their artless notes in simple strain, 
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim ; 
Perhaps Dundee's wild, warbling measures rise, 
Or plaintive martyr's, worthy of the name ; 
Or noble Elgin beats the heavenward flame ; 
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame,; 
The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise, 
No unison have they with our Creator's praise." 

" This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all 
acceptation, that Christ Jesus came- into the world 
to save sinners, of whom I am chief" is an 
nounced as his text. 

Such a sermon I never heard before ; such an 
one I am afraid I shall never hear again. His 
voice, at first weak and tremulous, strengthens 



A SABBATH IN THE COUNTRY. 195 

as he progresses with his subject. His eye burns 
with a new lustre ; his frame becomes more erect, 
his features kindle with animation, as with pa- 
thetic eloquence he dwells on Christ's mission to 
this sin-stained world of ours. And then, his in- 
vitation to those who know Him not. How sim- 
ple, how sublime, how earnest ! His whole heart 
is full of the deepest emotion struggling for ut- 
terance. As he looks anxiously on the waiting 
congregation, and in accents of melting tender- 
ness, says, of wliom I am chief ! the hot blood 
rushes unbidden to my face, and the briny tear 
trickles unconsciously down my cheek. 

I shall never forget that Sabbath, that sermon, 
• that minister. They will go with me to my 
grave. When I am earnestly engaged in other 
pursuits, ever and anon visions of them flit across 
my mind, and awaken emotions of the most de 
lightful nature. 



THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN'S DEATH- 
CHAMBER. 

" "Why lament the Christian dying ? 
Why indulge in tears or gloom ? 
Calmly on the Lord relying, 
She can greet the opening tomb." 

Every voice was hushed ; every step muffled. 
The soft rays of an April sun kissed, with a lin- 
gering affection, the pale cheek of a young lady, 
the tide of whose life was fast ebbing away. 

She was the child of christian parents, who 
had faithfully endeavored to bring her up in the 
nurture and admonition of the Lord. At an 
early age she was deprived by death of her 
sainted mother ; and before many years had 
elapsed, she was called to mourn the loss of a 
father upon whom every affection of her young 
heart was centred. To the bitterness of orphan* 
age was added the loss of the greatest blessing 
on earth — health. The rose of Death was long 
blooming on her cheek, ere her nearest friends 
were aware that she was falling a victim to the 

(X96) 



THE CHRISTIAN'S DEATH-CHAMBER. 197 

flattering and insidious attacks of consump- 
tion. 

"She had not neglected the early instructions 
of her pious parents, and, when very young, made 
a profession of her faith in Christ. For several 
years previous to her last sickness, her mind, at 
times, was clouded with doubts, and she occasion- 
ally seemed to suffer unutterable anguish at the 
absence of God's Spirit from the heart. A few 
days preceding her death, these doubts and fears 
were all entirely removed, and she seemed to en- 
joy, to the fullest extent, the light of God's rec- 
onciled countenance. It was indeed beautiful to 
see her, who, but a few weeks before, was so cold 
and indifferent, now wholly absorbed in the great 
and glorious truth of salvation through Christ. 
She was frequently engaged in earnest secret 
prayer, and never allowed anything to be read 
in her presence but the Bible, or some of those 
sweet and touching hymns so soothing to the 
troubled heart of the dying Christian. No mo- 
ment was to be lost. During the silent watches 
of the night, she would frequently call her broth- 
er to her bedside, and say, " T , read to your 

dying sister some of those beautiful passages in 
Revelation which our dear father used to love so 
tenderly, and caused to be read when dying." 
17* 



198 the christian's death-chamber. 

" How beautiful ! how grand ! how sublime !" 
she would exclaim, when the book was closed. 

Reader, come with me and stand beside the 
bed of this dear, dying young Christian, and see 
how calmly, serenely and happily a Christian 
can die. Contrast her death-bed with that of 
Hume or Voltaire, and tell me if there is not 
something in religion they knew nothing about 
— something that fits a man for life, and especially 
for death ; listen attentively to the few words 
which drop from her faltering tongue ; treasure 
them in your memory, and so live that your last 
end may be like hers. 

The devoted Pastor of the church had 

frequent and delightful interviews with her. In 
one of them the following conversation occurred : 

" Miss M , you doubtless are aware that you 

can be with us but a few days more ; areyouj^er- 
fectly resigned to God's will ?" With calm and 

sweet composure, she replied, "Yes, Mr. M , 

perfectly, perfectly, perfectly ; I long to be with 
my Saviour ; earth has no charms for me now." 

After reading the beautiful 14th chapter of 

St. John, Mr. M extended his hand, and was 

about bidding her, what seemed to him, a last 
farewell, when she made the following remarks : 
" Perhaps this will be the last time we shall ever 



THE CHRISTIAN'S DEATH-CHAMBER. 199 

meet again on earth : I wish you to preach my fune- 
ral sermon in the old R n church — the church 

of my father and my mother, where first I listened 
to the glad tidings of salvation ; preach it from 
the text, " In the way of righteousness is life ; 
and in the pathway thereof there is no death " — 
Prov. xii., 28. Preach to the living — to the liv- 
ing — to the living ! And I want the congregation 
to sing that delightful hymn, beginning, 

' God moves in a mysterious way — ' 

Good-bye." The Sabbath previous to her death, 
several of her friends united in singing that 
beautiful old hymn, 

"Rock of ages," &c. 

When they had completed the 3d verse, and 
were just beginning the last — 

" "While I draw this fleeting breath, 
When my heart-strings break in death, 
When I soar to worlds unknown, 
See Thee on Thy judgment throne, — 
Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in Thee" — 

she, with a sweetness and heavenly melody which 
beggars description, joined with them and sung 
the entire verse alone, — as the voices of all in 



200 the christian's death-chamber. 

the room were, so much choked with emotion 
they could not utter a word. Oh, what a scene ! 
That feeble, faltering voice spending its " last 
lingering breath" in singing her Redeemer's 
praise ! I felt as if I was standing in the very 
vestibule of heaven, catching some of those 
sweet accents of devotion warbled by immortal 
tongues. Such composure, confiding trust, holy 
resignation ! 

When her brothers and sister stood around her 
bed to receive the dying embrace and last fond 
kiss of their dear sister, she made them kneel 
down at her side, laid her feeble hands on their 
orphan heads, (yea, doubly orphan, since she was 
about leaving them.) and gave them a sister's 
dying blessing. She then remarked to her younger 
brother : — " My brother, you alone, of the three 
which will be left when I am gone, are not a 
Christian. My brother — my young, fatherless, 
motherless, almost sisterless brother — be a Chris- 
tian/" 

A few moments before her death, a new and 
unusual lustre shone forth from her eyes, a beau- 
tiful glow mantled her hitherto pale and wan 
check, and in accents of the most touching and 
rapt eloquence, her voice rich and full, she gave 
utterance to the following sublime sentiment 



THE CHRISTIAN'S DEATH-CHAMBER. 201 

which should live forever, and be proclaimed 
wherever the Gospel of Christ is preached :-— M I 
have tasted of Racine ; I have dipped into Vol- 
taire ; I have read Tom Paine ; I have had the 
daring audacity to study Hume ; I have attempt- 
ed to form a Philosophy myself — but have found 
them all" — not one exception — "fallacy, fal- 
lacy \" 

With these words lingering on her lips, she 
calmly and resignedly fell asleep in Jesus. 
for the death of those that die in the Lord ! 

The devoted Mr. M complied with her 

minutest requests ; and when he informed the 
congregation that he preached to them from 
the text selected by his departed sister in Christ, 
and that she urgently requested him to preach 
to the living, there was not a dry eye in the 
house. Many a soul left that old time-honored 
church, feeling that " In the way of righteous- 
ness IS LIFE ; AND IN THE PATHWAY THEREOF 
THERE IS NO DEATH." 



WHAT PRAYER DOES. 

" Prayee moves the arm that moves the world." 

Herod Agrippa, finding that the death of the 
Apostle James pleases the Jews, has seized the 
venerable Galileean fisherman and thrust him 
into prison. Four quaternions of soldiers are 
guarding him. He is chained by each hand to a 
Roman soldier — soldiers who know that, to sleep 
at their post is to die. Thus guarded, the doors 
and windows and gates all bolted and barred, he 
lays himself down to sleep. His sleep is doubt- 
less sweet and refreshing. His faith is strong in 
the promises of the Lord. To human eyes, death 
seems certain. On the coming morrow, this 
veteran soldier of the cross must lay his life 
down for Jesus. Tears, hot and bitter, will be 
shed by God's people over the lifeless form of 
him who once so fearlessly breasted the strong 
waves of Galilee to meet his Master. 

But we are told that the Church " made prayer 
unto God, without ceasing, for 1 rim ." And even 
while he is quietly and sweetly sleeping, there is 
[202] 



WHAT PRAYER DOES. 203 

going up from an inner chamber on one of the 
dark and unfrequented streets of Jerusalem, a 
fervent, importunate prayer in his behalf. 

During the prayer, an angel of the Lord de- 
scends and stands by the side of the slumbering 
apostle. A heavenly radiance lights up the dark 
cells of the dismal prison. The heaven-sent mes- 
senger arouses the sleeper, and the chains fall 
from his hands. No sound of footsteps is heard ; 
no rattle of chains breaks the solemn silence. 
There is no hurry. Peter slowly girds his coat 
about him, and binds on his sandals. He then 
throws his rough cloak around him, and follows 
the angel. They pass, unheard and unseen, 
through the wards of the prison ; the massive 
gate moves on its hinges, and opens wide at their 
approach. At last he is safe — safe from the 
wrath of his enemies. All — all of this accom- 
plished through importunate intercessory prayer ! 

Christian, I care not how lowly your situation, 
never say again, " I can't do any thing for Jesus J 1 

YOU CAN PRAY. 



« PRAY WITHOUT CEASIISTG » 

During a great outpouring of God's Spirit at 

college, my attention was called to the case 

of a young man of the most wicked and immoral 
character* It is true, he was the son of a godly 
father and a praying mother ; but this, rather 
than softening, seemed to harden his heart. 
It was one of the most copious outpourings of 
God's Spirit I ever witnessed. The windows of 
heaven were indeed opened, and God was pouring 
out such a blessing that it seemed there could not 
be room to contain it. The dry bones of the- 
valley had been breathed upon by His Spirit, and 
hearts once dead in trespasses and sins were 
awakened to a new life, and rejoicing in the 
blessed hope of salvation through Jesus Christ. 

Nearly every student seemed to feel the need 
of a Saviour. Every countenance was marked 
with concern ; every heart lifted to God in prayer 
for mercy and forgiveness. Rooms which once 
resounded with drunken revellings, were now 
Bethels of the living God. Lips which once 
[204] 



PRAY WITHOUT CEASING. 205 

profaned Jehovah's name, and joined in singing 
lewd and vulgar songs, now trembled with the 
accents of prayer, and sung the songs of Zion. 
It was a delightful season — I shall never forget it. 

Amid such scenes as these, there was one whose 
hard heart was steeled against the influence of 

God's awakening Spirit. It was A. M , the 

son of pious parents. Many and fervent were 
the prayers which ascended in his behalf, but 
they seemingly were of no avail. The more 
Christians prayed for him, the more hardened he 
became. The campus, time and again, resounded 
with his awful profanity ; and even the most ob- 
durate would stop and wonder that man, " whose 
breath was in his nostrils," could call upon God 
so frequently and earnestly to damn rather than 
save his soul. 

Such was the extent to which his God-defying 
wickedness went, that frequently, when the Chris- 
tian students were engaged in the exercises of a 
prayer-meeting, he gathered together a few of 
his sinful comrades and held a mock prayer-meet- 
ing in an adjoining room. Is it not wonderful 
that God did not cut him clown in the midst of 
such heaven-daring presumption ? But, like Paul, 
he was a chosen vessel. God had yet a great 
and glorious work for him to perform. 
18 



206 PRAY WITHOUT CEASING. 

During one of those meetings which he was in 
the habit of holding, the arrow of conviction 
pierced his flinty heart, and laid him low and 
bleeding at the foot of the cross. 

Great was the joy among the students, when 
the glad tidings flew from lip to lip that A. 

M had come to Jesus and fallen at His feet 

Old men wept with delight, and yearning hearts 
throbbed with inexpressible pleasure. 

The " tidings of great joy" soon winged their 
way to the ear of the young man's mother. Her 
heart overflowed with rejoicing, and tears of ex- 
ultation flowed in quick succession down her fur- 
rowed cheek. Said she to a friend, " I have 
never boived my knee ivitliout beseeching God 
to convert my poor wayward boy ; and now my 
prayer is ansiuered. Joy, joy, joy ! Now let 
thy servant depart in peace. My son is a Chris- 
tian." 

This wayward boy is now a devoted minister 
of Christ, and has gone far hence to proclaim 
the glad tidings of salvation to the hundreds of 
settlers scattered along our western territories. 
Christian fathers, Christian mothers, Christian 
brothers, Christian sisters, pray without ceasing 
for those who are near and dear to you. Your 
prayers will be answered. 



APPENDIX. 



NO. I. 

INSTITUTION FOR THE DEAF, DUMB, 
AND BLIND. 

Staunton, Va., May, 1859. 

The Institution for the Deaf, Dumb, and Blind, 
situated at this place, is a building of very at- 
tractive and beautiful appearance. Occupying 
an eminence to the right of the Virginia Central 
Railroad, it is among the first things that 
attract the attention in your approach to this 
beautiful mountain town, — for we believe it has 
not yet risen to the dignity of a city. 

The style of the building is Doric ; the en- 
trance being a large portico supported by six 
massive pillars. On each side of the portico are 
two attractive wings, used for the reception of 
visitors and recitation rooms ; : — in the rear are 

(207) 



208 LETTERS FROM STAUNTON, VA. 

several other apartments, all large and well 
arranged, appropriated to the different purposes 
of the Institution. 

The building is situated in the midst of quite 
a number of stalwart mountain oaks, and the 
yard is beautifully diversified by various kinds 
of shrubbery and winding graveled walks. 
There is an absence of everything like studied 
formality in the arrangement of both the shrub- 
bery and the walks, and the eye is at once struck 
with the peculiarly easy and natural appearance 
of the building and its surrounding ornaments. 

On entering, you are at once pleased with the 
neatness and beauty of the internal arrange- 
ments. A very polite and attentive gentleman 
meets you in the reception room, and inquires if 
you wish to look through the Institution. On 
replying affirmatively, you are first ushered into 
the apartment for 

THE BLIND. 

The scene is one which awakens mingled feel- 
ings of pleasure and pain ; of pleasure to see so 
many afflicted little ones, for most of them are 
young, led by the hand of kindness in the 
pleasant and peaceful ways of wisdom ; of pain, 
when you behold them rolling wildly their sight- 



LETTERS FEOM STAUNTON", VA. 209 

less orbs, and seemingly endeavoring to gather 
in some few straggling rays of the cheerful sun, 
or to look out upon the beautifully draped fields 
of nature, and know that all these things, so at- 
tractive to us, are midnight darkness to them. 

One of the scholars, a little girl about ten 
years old, read several passages from various 
books for me, and then pointed out on a large 
map of the United States, Pittsburg, and told 
me at the junction of what rivers it was situated, 
Richmond, Staunton, and many other places, with 
an ease and accuracy really astonishing. Two 
other girls, somewhat older, sung, and played on 
the piano " Do they miss me at home ?" As I 
listened to the sweet melody of their well- tuned 
voices, I, for a moment, forgot their blindness, 
and felt tears dimming my eyes as my mind wan- 
dered back to the two near and dear ones at 
home, and I thought to myself, "Do they miss 
me at home ?" I then listened to the reading of 
several passages in French by a young lady of 
about sixteen. It really was surprising to wit- 
ness the fluency with which her delicate fingers 
glided over word after word, and sentence after 
sentence. 

In all these cases the reading is done by pass- 
ing the fingers over raised letters. 
18* 



210 



LETTERS FROM STAUNTON, VA. 



The sweetness of expression, the amiability of 
character, the flow of spirits which characterized 
one of the little pupils, Bettie Archibald, en- 
gaged my attention, and enlisted my affection. 
On being asked if she would be blind in heaven, 
she very sweetly and quickly replied, " No, sir." 

Quite a number of the male pupils are daily 
instructed in instrumental music, and many of 
them display more than ordinary talents. It 
was quite a treat to hear the little fellows play 
" Yankee Doodle :" their faces were soon lighted 
up with smiles, and they played with as much 
life and animation, as if they were leading an 
American army on to victory. 

We now wend our way into the apartments 
for 

THE DEAF AND DUMB. 

A large class, consisting of boys and girls, is 
seated in regular order opposite their instructor, 
who is also deaf and dumb. At a given signal } 
they all devoutly rise, and with eyes fixed on the 
fingers of their teacher, follow him in his devo- 
tions, as he leads them to a throne of grace. It 
is the most touching scene I ever witnessed. 
There is but one person (he, your correspondent,) 
in that large assembly can utter a syllable, or 



LETTERS FROM STAUNTON, VA. 211 

distinguish a sound. Xot a sound is heard ; the 
stillness becomes painful — deathlike ; the devo- 
tion seems to grow warmer and warmer ; the 
prayer is concluded ; the seats resumed ; all of 
this gone through without the utterance of one 
word. 

What a lesson should it teach us ! How true 
is it that we shall not be heard for our much 
speaking ! Leaving the chapel, we enter the rec- 
itation room. Each pupil is standing opposite 
a black-board, with his eyes turned to the 
teacher ; questions and answers are written by 
the instructor, and then copied by the pupils. 
In this room are assembled classes, each under 
the charge of a separate teacher, studying 
geography, grammar, history ; and in one room 
is a small class just beginning to read. The 
chirography of some of the pupils is really beau- 
tiful ; and we leave the room feeling that though 
God has deprived them of two senses, yet, in his 
loving kindness, he has bestowed upon them un. 
usual capacities in the others. It may be a fact 
worthy of mentioning, that the deaf and dumb 
do the printing (raised letters) for the Blind : 
such is the economy of the Institute. 

The number of pupils in the departments is at 
present sixty-nine. 



212 LETTERS FROM STAUNTON, VA. 

In conclusion, I would express my especial 
thanks and obligations to Assistant-principal 
Mr. Covell, Mrs. Coleman, of the Blind, and 
Mr. Pink, of the Deaf-mute Department, for 
their extreme kindness and attention. 

In my next, I shall give you a sketch of the 
Lunatic Asylum, also situated at this place. 
Yours, truly, 

Philip Barrett. 

No. 2. 

THE LUNATIC ASYLUM. 

Staunton, Ya., June, 1859. 

The sun was hanging low in the west, when 
we stood at the gateway of the Staunton Lunatic 
Asylum. His rays were gilding with a golden 
lustre the hoary summits of the Blue Ridge, as 
they printed their bold outlines on the cloudless 
evening sky ; and as a- few beams fell here and 
there on the graveled walks, the flower-crowned 
terraces, and verdant shrubbery of the beautiful 
greensward which stretches forth in front of 
the Asylum, we could but thank an ever-gracious 
and ever-good Providence, for His inestimable 
gift to mankind— the bright, sparkling, joyous 
sunshine. 



LETTERS FROM STAUNTON, VA. 213 

A moment's glance at the general appearance 
of the buildings convinces the beholder that they 
are not as beautiful nor as commanding as those 
of the Blind Institute ; though much taste is 
displayed in the arrangement of the walks, and 
selection of many and choice specimens of rare 
and beauteous flowers and shrubbery. You 
enter the main building, after ascending a flight 
of granite steps, through a portico of Ionic archi- 
tecture, supported by four graceful pillars. The 
first apartment which we enter is the chapel. 
On either side of the pulpit are painted in beauti- 
ful gilt letters, the Ten Commandments ; in the 
opposite end of the room stands a large and 
handsome organ ; the dome and walls are 
beautifully frescoed. The pulpit is occupied 
every Sabbath evening by some one of the minis- 
ters of the various evangelical denominations 
worshipping in Staunton. All these bespeak 
that these poor demented creatures are not for- 
gotten on the Sabbath ; and even where a few 
sparks of intellect linger amid the ashes of minds 
once proud and noble, it is interesting to see 
how those sparks are kindled anew by the light 
of religion. 

After wending our way through various other 
portions of the buildings, and stopping here and 



214 LETTERS FROM STAUNTON, VA. 

there to bestow a hasty glance at one and another 
rare specimen of curiously carved workman- 
ship, by some lunatic genius, we find ourselves 
gazing through iron bars at a scene which would 
cause the most unfeeliDg heart to shudder with 
horror. There are grouped together, in the 
narrow confines of four tall brick walls, not I 
than a hundred patients in the very worst stages 
of lunacy. It seems that the darkest cavern in 
the regions of Despair could present no more 
heart-rending picture. 

The wild glare of the piercing eye, the di- 
shevelled locks ; the meaningless gibberish ; the 
incoherent babbling ; the fiendish ravings that 
rent the silent air, together with numberless 
other acts which constitute the sum of a poor 
maniac's life, have left an impression on our . 
mind that will go with us to our grave. 

How true are the words of the poet — 

" Oh, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown I 
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's eye, tongue, sword ; 
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form, 
The observed of all observers, quite, quite down." 

We willingly leave such scenes, and turn our 
ready steps to an observatory which crowns the 
main building, and commands one of the loveliest 
views we ever witnessed. 



LETTERS FROM STAUNTON, VA. 215 

Let us forget the painful sights we have just 
beheld, and drink in the resplendent beauty of 
nature as she stands robed in the crimson folds 
of evening — 

" For the west yet glimmers with some streaks of day." 

Beneath us are the various buildings of the 
Asylum, glittering, like burnished gold, in the 
rays of the setting sun. To the north rise the 
graceful proportions of the Blind Institute, 
nestled in its grove of wide-spreading oaks ; to 
the west are seen the heaven-pointing spires and 
beautiful residences of Staunton ; to the east is 
the graveyard of the asylum, with its plain, up- 
right marble slabs, marking the spot where 
slumber the remains of many a friendless maniac ; 
to the south is one wide-extended view of sloping 
' hills, smiling valleys, sunlit streams and snow- 
white cottages, dotted over the scene liks stars 
in the blue canopy of heaven. 

Who can look upon such a prospect and not 
feel his thoughts turn from nature to nature's 
God? 

" All things are calm and fair and passive ; earth 
Looks as if lulled upon an angel's lap, 
Into a breathless, dewy slumber : so still 
That we can only say of things, they be." — Festus. 



216 LETTERS FROM STAUNTON, VA. 

The gathering darkness reminds us that we 
have trespassed too long on the kindness of the 
gentleman who has so cheerfully shown us 
through the many apartments of this truly 
noble institution, whose object is to ameliorate 
the condition of the suffering maniac. 

We bid her, her directors and her officers 
" God-speed " in their noble enterprise, and 
earnestly pray that they may continue " blessing 
and being blessed " until the light of reason 
shall be shed abroad in the darkened intellect 
of every lunatic in our land. 

There are many other points which we might 
mention ; but they are of such a nature as only 
to sicken the heart, and we pass them by in 
silence, simply remarking that if there be one 
crowning blessing for which our hearts should 
ever be outgushing in grateful thanks to our 
Heavenly Father, it is reason. 

Philip Barrett. 



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